he Living Touch, . . . 696
The Lone Star Ranger, . . 405
The Madcap Set at St. Anne's, • 698
The Mad Knight, . . . 698
The Mutiny of the Elsinore, . 550
The New Laity and the Old SUnd-
ards, ..... 400
The New Testament, . . , 546
The Orchard Pavilion, . . . 249
The Origins of the War, . . 545
The Oxford Book of American Es-
says, ..... 680
The Pedagogical Value of the Vir-
tue of Faith as Developed in the
Religious Novitiate, . . . 825
The Personality of Christ, . . 68a
The Present Military Situation in
the United States, . . . 541
The Priesthood and Sacrifice of
Our Lord Jesus Christ, . .821
The Principles of Christianity, . 256
The Principles of Rural Credits, . 535
The Rediscovered Universe, . . 549
The Revolt of the Angels, . . asi
The Service of the Sacred Heart, 838
The Shoes of Happiness, . . 828
The Story of St. Dominic, . . 837
The Soul, ..... 407
The Story of a Peasant, . . 407
The Straight Path, . . .833
The Subaltern, .... 407
The Sunny Side of Diplomatic Life, 831
The True Ulysses S. Grant, . . 396
The Unfolding of the Little Flower, 389
The Vatican: Its History, Its
Treasures, . • . . . 254
The Viereck-Chesterton Debate on
Whether the Cause of Germany
or that of the Allied Powers Is
Just, 395
The War-Book of the German
General Staff, . . . .544
The War in Europe, . . .24s
The Young Color Guard, . . 698
The Will to Live, . . .835
The Wit and Wisdom of John
Ayscough, . . . .836
The Wolf Hunters, . . .835
Thomas Davis, Thinker and
Teacher, . .... 819
Tom Cringle's Log, . . . 407
Travels in France and Italy During
the Years 1787, 1788, 1789, . 407
Under Which Flag? . . .693
Venise. — La Ville des Doges, . 839
Visits to Jesus in the Blessed
Sacrament, . . . .837
Vocation, . . . . .408
What Can I Know? . . .683
What Is the Sacred Heart? . . 697
Westminster Abbey, . . .40a
Who Built the Panama Canal? . 829
Windsor Castle, . . . .407
With the Allies sso
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
Vol. CI. APRIL, 1915. • .- No. 601.
nSCASANTITA
DAL VATICANa ... 2a.>'ehbcaLa .IUI£»'
ttM> 6 ]UfVBO Signor Kio Oehso.
Ki. fon dato prenm dl riferire al S4.vro PADRK
q^nto I'Biliienia Voitra RevHi ha avuto la bont& dl sorlveni nel suo
pregiato foglio del S3 del paisato aese dl Gennalo latorno al * Catbo
lie World ".
L' AlXiUSTO PONnyiCaSfGhe tlene nel aasslao cod to le beneaereoa
le del la ataapa cattolioa,venulente degoa dl tal nose per 11 gran bea
ne ohe essa ooaple In Bexio alia soolet^ civile, el d degnato dl Anla
foatare la Sua grande benevolensa per 11 detto perlodlco,ohe In oloa
quant'annl d' Inlnterrotto lavoro ha ooapluto un noblle e santo apo8t<^
lato In dlfesa della Chlesa e del la olvlltli orl8tluna;e,faoendo votl
ohe.oon alaorlt^ ed effloaola anohe aagglorlyprosegua per J'avvenlre
nell'opera flno ad oggl oodi nobllacnte ooBplta,ln segno della Sun pa
tema dlleslone e ooaplaoenza ,ha lapartlto al perlodlco,all^egreglo
Dlrcttore,al aolertl redattorl,nonoh6 a I letter 1 dl esso la liencdlzlo
ne ApoatoUca.
. Colgo volentlerl I'oouaalone che ■! al offre per bact^irle ual^
llaaiaajiente le aanl e per oonfemaral oon 1 aenal della plik profonda
venerarlone dl Voatra fiBincnza Rcvaa
Uao DevBO Obblao Servitor vero
Signor Cardlnale G.H.FARIiiY
Arclveaoovo dl /. U.O. /3y/*-'V
($99 nest page for translation,)
8 BLESSING OF BENEDICT XV. [April,
(Translakoh pf the foregoing letter,)
OFFICE OF THE
SECRETARY OF STAfTi^^.'
/;/•• THE VATICAN, 22 February, 1915.
Most'-^minent, Reverend and Respected Lord :
•'/'• •**
;*>/• ' I referred to the Holy Father without delay
*;V' * all that Your Most Reverend Eminence had the good-
ness to write me in your favor of the 23d of January
with regard to The Catholic World.
The August Pontiff, who has the highest apprecia-
tion of the merits of the Catholic press, truly worthy
of being so called by reason of the great good which it
accomplishes in civil society, has condescended to
manifest his great good will toward the above-named
periodical, which in fifty years of uninterrupted labor,
has accomplished a noble and holy apostolate in de-
fence of the Church and of Christian civilization ; and
expressing the hope that, in the future, with even
' greater alacrity and efficacy, it may continue in the
work so nobly accomplished up to the present day, he
has, in token of his paternal love and affection,
bestowed the Apostolic Benediction on its distin-
guished editor, its zealous staff, an4 also its readers.
I gladly take the occasion now offered of most
humbly kissing your hands, and of signing myself
with sentiments of the deepest veneration a most
devoted and true servant of Your Most Reverend
Eminence.
P. Cardinal Gasparri.
Lord Cardinal John M. Farley,
Archbishop , of New York.
191 5-] LETTER OF PIUS IX.
"IITE think it most appropriate to republish here the Letter of Pope
Pius IX., written to Father Hecker shortly after The Catho-
lic World was established.
To My Beloved Son, I. T. Hecker, Priest and
Superior of the Missionary Congre-
gation OF St. Paul, New York.
PIUS IX., POPE.
Beloved Son, health and apostolic benediction.
We rejoice, beloved son, that you, mindful of your
purpose, labor continually, by your word and writings,
to spread the Catholic religion, and to scatter the
darkness of error ; and We heartily congratulate you
upon the increase which, as We have been informed,
the works undertaken by you have received. Un-
doubtedly those thronged assemblies where you have
set forth the Catholic doctrine, and have thereby ex-
cited in others such a desire to hear you, that you are
invited to address audiences still larger and more no-
table; the esteem which your periodical. The Catho-
lic World, has, through its erudition and perspicuity,
acquired, even among those who differ from us; the
eagerness with which the tracts and books of The
Catholic Publication Society, established by you, are
everywhere sought for; the new associates who enroll
themselves in your congregation to extend more
widely the good work you have undertaken ; finally,
the students who offer themselves to you to be edu-
cated for the same work, all these are so many
abundant fruits and eloquent witnesses of your zeal
and skill, and of the divine favor through which your
undertakings are made fruitful. You will easily
LETTER OF PIUS IX. [April,
understand, of course, how gratifying this must be to
Us, who desire, above all things, that the Gospel
should be preached to every creature; that those who
sit in the shadow of death should be brought into the
way of salvation; that, in fine, all errors being
destroyed, the reign of truth should be everywhere
established ; in which justice and peace, kissing each
other, may restore to the human family the tran-
quillity of order, so long banished by the extrava-
gances of error. While, therefore. We most cordially
commend your zealous efforts, and those of your asso-
ciates who contribute to the success of the same by
their labor, their gifts, or their talents. We give
especial thanks to God that He has condescended to
second them, and We pray Him that, by the power
of His grace. He may stimulate still more your
already strenuous exertions ; and may give you more
and more associates who, with you, shall bestow their
industry and strength on the common good of the
Christian people. And as a token of the divine favor,
and an evidence of Our paternal good will. We impart
most affectionately to you and to your congregation
of missionaries. Our apostolic benediction.
Given at Rome, at St. Peter's, on the 30th of De-
cember, 1868, in the twenty-third year of Our Pontif-
icate.
Pius IX., Pope.
1915] LETTER OF JOHN CARDINAL FARLEY
CARDINAL'S RESIDENCE
452 Bfadison Avenae
New York
March 15, 19x5.
Reverend and Dear Father Burke :
Learning that The Catholic World is
about to keep its Golden Jubilee, I feel it a duty, and
no less a pleasure, to extend to yourself and your co-
workers my warmest congratulations on the comple-
tion of a half-century's defence of the Faith.
I know the abundant fruit which has come to the
cause of religion in the United States from your
excellent publication. I have been from its birth a
constant and interested reader. I can remember well
perusing the whole first number issued in April, 1865,
in my undergraduate days at Fordham. Since then
I have watched this child of the illustrious Father
Hecker's brain as it grew year by year. Except at
rare intervals of absence or heavy duties, I have read
every number.
The Catholic World, though not the first, was
one of the most valiant and most efficient defenders of
Holy Church. It was hailed with joy by the Catholics
of this dty, who prophesied for it a splendid future,
which has been more than realized. Such a voice
with its tone of no surrender was sorely needed then.
The publicists and pamphleteers of that day attacked
the Church with a virulence they would not dare to
use in speaking of the most insijpificant denomlni^-
LETTER OF JOHN CARDINAL FARLEY [April
tion. Truth was never a weapon they sought to
install in their armory against the Church.
The establishment of The Catholic World pro-
duced more than a "sea-change" in this spirit of
antagonism. Our adversaries were forced to have
some regard for truth, and hold their violence in
check.
I pray God, therefore, most earnestly that your
jubileed magazine may have even a more brilliant
future as a reward for its pioneer and herculean task
of the past fifty years, and that when the century
mark is reached, the occasion will be observed by
public and national expressions of gratitude from the
Catholics of the American Church.
Praying for you continued success in your honor-
able and distinguished position as editor, I am
Faithfully yours in Xto.,
^v^t^
Rev. John J. Burke, C.S.P.,
Editor " The Catholic World.'
THE CATHOLIC WORLD.
BY THE EDITOR.
|N an appreciation of Father Hecker's work for the
apostolate of the press, written immediately after his
death, Father Hewit said : " The most important
and successful enterprise which he undertook in this
direction was the founding and conducting of The
Catholic World." Father Hewit wrote this in January, 1889,
when the magazine was in its twenty-fourth year. He expressed
the hope that he might continue and perpetuate the work begtm by
Father Hecker — ^a hope the magazine fully realized under his
very capable editorship. Father Hewit succeeded Father Hecker
as editor, and held the office until his death in 1897. Father Alex-
ander P. Doyle followed him, and held the office until September,
1904, when he was succeeded by the present editor.
To realize what span has been covered by The Catholic
World, we need but to recall that the year of its foundation saw
the end of the Civil War of the United States, and not until the year
following was the transatlantic telegraph successfully completed.
When one considers the smallness of the Catholic population
of the United States in 1865, ^"d the necessary paucity of writers,
one is amazed by the courage of those who undertook the publica-
tion of a magazine of the size and standard of The Catholic
World. According to the census of i860, the Catholic population
of the United States numbered 4,451,000; there were 2,242 Catho-
lic priests, 64 Catholic colleges, and 183 Convents of women.
The first issue of the magazine contained no prospectus and
boasted no promise. It contained but one original article, entitled
Cardinal Wiseman in Rome, some miscellaneous notes on science and
art, and a few book reviews. These are the only portions that are
original. The remainder of the issue was composed of articles
either translated from a foreign language or reprinted from an
English review. That first issue included The Progress of the
Church in the United States, taken from Le Correspondant. Stories
and sketches from The Month, The Lamp, Once a Week, The Dub-
lin Review, Chambers' Journal, La Civiltd Cattolica, Blackwood's
Magazine, Der Katholik, The Cornhill, and All the Year Round.;
Important and scholarly articles from the foreign magazines, trans-
lated for the most part by Father Hecker himself, constituted a
8 r//£ CATHOLIC WORLD [AprJ
goodly portion of The Catholic World for many years. Xh
magazine, however, always had its original comment on all matter:
of general religious interest, and its own book reviews.
But as issue after issue of the magazine appeared and its
influence and name increased, it drew to it, if it may not be said
in part to have created, a large number of able and gifted writers,
who formed a veritable galaxy in the Catholic literary history of
the last half of the nineteenth century. It may indeed be said
that The Cathouc World during the first thirty years of its
existence, at least, is the most complete record we have of the growth
of Catholic letters in our country.
But whether the articles were original or translated. Father
Hecker, from the very beginning, established a standard of real
scholarship and of high literary merit. His aim was, of course,
to have a Catholic magazine, but a Catholic magazine of unques-
tioned literary worth. The essays, stories, and poetry he accepted
and selected were all well worth the reading. As time went on,
he gathered together the best Catholic writers of the day, and
published their work in The Catholic World. He was not
afraid to present an unknown writer to the public, and many who
afterwards enjoyed a wide reputation owed the beginnings of it to
The Catholic World. The magazine created not only a
reading Catholic public, but also a large school of Catholic
writers.
On the basic religious problems of the day. The Catholic
World sought from the beginning to throw the saving light of
Catholic truth. Forty-five years ago Father Hecker wrote:
The root-error of Protestantism is an intellectual error. Even
though it produces the fruit of agnosticism, the root is still the
same and still lives among non-Catholics. It is the evil of
subjectivism. Truth is generated in the mind from the action
of the object on the subject; as St. Thomas says, it is the
transposition of the object into the subject. This makes the
criterion of truth external. Protestantism makes the criterion
of truth internal, makes its interior states the exclusive test
of religious truth.
What is the tendency of the Protestant mind in philosophy?
It is subjectivism and leads to general skepticism. Not that
this is a natural tendency of the human mind, but because it is
misled. Throwing the Church more upon its intellectual basis
will cause its brightest minds to meet the errors of the age more
satisfactorily, esj)ecially among the Saxon races.
igiSl THE CATHOLIC WORLD 9
Studying its pages, one will see with what prophetic accuracy
its early editors saw that the real battle to be waged by the children
of the Church against non-Catholic thought was a battle against
liberalism and rationalism. Protestantism as a system of thought
led inevitaUy to skepticism^ Whatever of definite and dogmatic
truth was left to it must, if held to, lead to Catholic Faith. But it
was becoming more and more evident that dogma under the assaults
of evolution, naturalism and Biblical criticism was gradually being
abandoned by many. With them it was not simply the question of
the truth of Christianity, it was the question of God's own existence
that was subject for debate. No living authoritative Church, es-
tablished by the Divine Christ, stood between them and practical
agnosticism. The Catholic writers of the day saw the free spirit
of compromise, of indiflferentism, of barren humanitarianism that
would characterize the children of the future. In the early years
of The Catholic World's life, and more particularly under Father
Hewit's editorship, the warfare against the forces of disintegration
was persistently and heroically sustained. The IJrotestant thought
of the day was considered from every side. The activities of the
conferences and synods of Protestant bodies were carefully fol-
lowed; the Protestant publications, many of which were showing
themselves more and more agnostic and unchristian, were dealt with
in extended criticism. The contributors to The Catholic World
always showed that true mark of apostolic labor — the virtue of hope.
To what was promising, and honestly done, credit was always given ;
and they never lost sight of the admonition that the smoking flax
was never to be quenched. Courtesy, fairness, and an absence of
acrimonious controversy marked their writings. And perhaps be-
cause of this, their scholarly, determined, and uncompromising ex-
position and defence of Catholic truth stood forth all the more
strongly.
Every religious and philosophical controversy of the past fifty
years has been discussed and illumined with the light of Catholic
truth in the pages of The. Catholic World. It would be impos-
sible to cover the subjects here. Their extent and variety will be
seen from the list of principal articles we publish herewith.
Always keenly appreciative of actual conditions. Father Hecker
discussed subjects which may be said to be still very timely, e. g,,
The Catholic Church in View of Present Antagonism, The Liberty
and Independence of the Pope, The Public School Question, The
Things Thai Make for Unity, and The True and False Friends
of Reason. Father Hewit contributed many articles on philosophy,
lo THE CATHOLIC WORLD [Apri
theology, Church history, and Scripture. Indeed, he contribute
a larger number of articles than any other one writer to the pag-^
of The Catholic World. He was a thoroughly trained schola]
and theologian, and championed in advance that return to scholastic
philosophy afterwards made mandatory by Leo XIII. During- the
ill health of Father Hecker in 1874-6, Father Hewit was editor-
in-chief. The articles appearing in the magazine during those
years show how zealously and ably the cause of scholastic philosophy
was upheld by Father Hewit, Father Bayma, SJ., and Monsignor
de Concilio. Now and again Father Hewit ventured into the purely
literary field, as when he wrote on Disraeli's Lot hair, but such
ventures were rare. He was much more at home in matters
theological.
After Father Hewit the honors of the most frequent con-
tributor belong to Orestes A. Brownson, " the lion " as Father
Hewit called him. Seventy articles from his pen on as many sub-
jects are to be found in The Catholic World.
The name of J. R. G. Hassard, the journalist and author of
The Life of Archbishop Hughes, appeared frequently in The
Catholic World. At one time he was on the editorial staff of
the magazine. Of Hassard the New York Tribune said at the time
of his death: " In the variety and uniform excellence of his work,
as a general editorial writer, and as a musical and literary writer,
he has scarcely left a superior on the American press. Trained
under the fastidious eye of Dr. Ripley, he brought to literary
criticism all that master's soundness of judgment and elegance of
taste, with a wider and more youthful range of sympathies."
John Gilmary Shea, who had projected a life of Archbishop
Hughes, but was anticipated by Mr. Hassard, contributed to The
Catholic World many articles in his favorite field of labor and
research.
As early as July, 1866, we find an article on modern religious
tendencies, entitled New Pagan or Old Christian, by Canon William
Barry, now prominent in the world of letters. Later he became
a regular contributor.
With John Gilmary Shea must be coupled the name of Richard
H. Qarke, the distinguished author of Lives of the American
Bishops, He wrote for The Catholic World a series on the
pioneer American missionaries ; and other articles on various sub-
jects.
Among its early assistant editors and contributors were John
McCarthy, who wrote on matters of immediate Catholic interest,
1915] THE CATHOLIC WORLD 11
general literary criticism and Irish history and politics; J. E.
McGee, who contributed estimates of Daniel 0'G>nnell, Eugene
O'Curry, Gerald Griffin, and many articles on the Irish situation
of the day; and James Florent Meline, of the staff of General Pope,
and author of a Life of Mary Queen of Scots, who discussed for
American Catholics many important questions of history.
The articles by Appleton Morgan on Shakespeare, the Man
and His Work, are to-day a classic in Shakespearean literature and
criticism.
The late Monsignor T. O. Preston contributed for a long
period a yearly review of the world's history.
Dr. S. A. Raborg, a physician, well known in his day, wrote on
the early efforts made for the better housing of the poor. Louis
B. Binsse, one of the first benefactors of The Catholic World,
discussed the Catholic charities of New York. His account, when
compared with conditions to-day, shows to what magnificent pro-
portions they have grown.
The Cathouc World introduced Agnes Repplier to the
public, and was in turn favored by many contributions from her pen.
Miss Repplier — it may surprise her friends to know — wrote some
short stories for the magazine. She contributed also many essays
which show that clarity and distinction of style, that Catholic
breadth of thought and intimate knowledge of the best in English
and French literature that have given her an unquestioned prom-
inence in English literature, and in the hearts of all who know her.
Miss IwOuise Imogen Guiney is another American writer whose
work first saw the light in The Catholic World. Agnes Rep-
plier, Louise Imogen Guiney, with Alice Meynell — all contributors
to The Catholic World — stand to-day at the head of English
letters. The last two, in poetry, and the first, in prose, possess a
literary distinction all their own.
Among the story writers that The Catholic World in its long
history may lay claim to are: Canon Sheehan, Katharine Tynan,
John Talbot Smith, Mary Catherine Crowley, Mrs. Wilfrid Ward,
Marion Ames Taggart, M. A. Tincker, William Seton, Anna T.
Sadlier, Rosa MuIhoUand, John Ayscough, Esther Neill, Christian
Reid, Jeanie Drake, Thomas B. Rielly, and Enid Dinnis.
Nor should we fail to mention among its early contributors
Father Alfred Young, who from the very first took up the cause
of Church Music in the pages of The Catholic World. His
articles, which were frequent, included both prose and verse,
essay and story. At an early date also appear the scientific writings
12 THE CATHOLIC WORLD [April
of the well-known scholar and priest, George M. Scarle. Father
Scarle's pen has never been idle, and our presentrday readers know
well with what clearness and scholarship he discusses any theme
he handles. While speaking of the Paulist writers, we may properly
add a word of honorable mention to such early contributors as
Father Walter Elliott, who is still doing valiant work; Father M.
P. Smith, who but recently contributed an estimate of the late
Pius X.; Father Henry H. Wyman; Father Thomas McMillan,
who long ago stood forth as the champion of Catholic education,
, and whose voice and pen are still active in its cause; Father Charles
J. Powers, whose work includes both prose and poetry; Father
George McDcrmott, for his discussion of Irish questions; Father
Joseph McSorley, who first published many chapters of his thought-
ful work, The Sacrament of Duty, in the pages of this magazine,
and Father Bertrand L. Conway, whose name has been signed to
many timely articles of Catholic defence. May their pens, and the
pens of their brethren, be active for many years to come in the woric
of the magazine so dear to the heart of their illustrious founder.
The members of the hierarchy throughout the years of its
existence have frequently chosen The Catholic World as their
mouthpiece. Among such living contributors, we may mention
His Eminence James Cardinal Gibbons; His Eminence John Car-
dinal Farley ; the Most Reverends John Ireland, John L. Spalding,
Robert Seton, John J. Keane; the Right Reverends Thomas J.
Conaty, Francis Silas Chatard, Camillus Paul Maes, Thomas O'Gor-
man, and Thomas J. Shahan.
A special word of honorable mention is due to Cardinal Aidan
Gasquet, Wilfrid Ward, Maurice Francis Egan, whose first
work for The Catholic World dates far back, and who is still
a most welcome contributor to its pages ; Orby Shipley, the well-
known compiler of Carmina Mariana; the late Richard Malcolm
Johnston, and the late Brother Azarias. To these who have won a
permanent place in American letters, we must add the name of one
to whom literary history will accord a like honor — Katherine Br^,
the author of The Poefs Chantry.
A Paulist, now gone to his reward, who would have rejoiced
to see this day of the magazine's Jubilee, is the late beloved Father
Alexander P. Doyle. After Father Hewit's death. Father Doyle was
for seven years editor-in-chief of the magazine, and labored unself-
ishly in its welfare. Under him the present editor served. Father
Doyle went from the editor's chair to the Apostolic Mission House
at Brookland, D. C.
I9I5-1 THE CATHOLIC WORLD 13
Jubilee reminiscences should also echo the praise of the late
Father William D. Hughes, C.S.P., for many years business man-
ager of the magazine, and later assistant-editor. Father Hughes
was a man of exceptional g^fts, and a staunch defender of high
literary standards. In service with the present editor, he gave of
his best to the magazine from 1905 imtil his death in 1910. He
was the faithful servant, always more pleased in helping others
to do their best than in putting himself forward.
During the past ten years, a period with which the present
editor is most familiar, we recall with pleasure the notable con-
tributions of Dr. William J. Kerby on questions and principles
of social reform, and on practical considerations affecting the vast
work of Catholic charities throughout the United State. No man is
better qualified to speak on them, and no man brings greater zeal or
self-sacrifice to his work, than Dr. Kerby. With him must be joined
the name of another ardent worker in the cause of social reform,
and one who is an unquestionable authority, Dr. John A. Ryan of
St Paul, well known as the author of The Living Wage.
Educational questions have been discussed by Edward A. Pace,
Thomas Edward Shields, and Canon William Barry. Among the
notable series that have appeared during^ these years are: The
Recent Results of Psychical Research, by George M. Searle, C.S.P.,
Great Catholic Scientists and Old Calumnies Against the Churdh,
by Dr. James J. Walsh ; Sanctity and Development, by Thomas J.
Gerrard; The Crises of Catholicism, by Cornelius Qifford; The
Four Notes of the Church, by H. P. Russell ; The Church and Euro-
pean Civilisation, The Results of the Reformation, and The Church
and French Democracy, by Hilaire Belloc, the author of many well-
known volumes, a writer and lecturer of international reputation.
From Edmund T. Shanahan we have Blindfolding the Mind,
a series showing how " unreasonable and unreasoning " much of
modem philosophy is ; and Completing the Reformation, a master-
ful exposition of how the denials of the Reformation have worked
themselves out to their fatal conclusions. A thorough mastery of
fundamental philosophical problems, and an exceptional literary
grace distinguish the work of Dr. Shanahan. In these articles he
has set forth clearly and attractively the leading principles for
the guidance of all who attempt to walk through the mazes of
modem philosophical thought. It may be safely said that no one
can meet that thought successfully, understand it thoroughly, and
solve its difficulties finally, imless he has studied these contributions
on the subject They are profound, yet not heavy; thorough.
14 THE CATHOLIC WORLD [Apri
yet not academic; masterful, yet easily intelligible to the averagf^
educated Catholic layman.
English letters have been treated by Alice Meynell, Ag^cs
Repplier, Louise Imogen Guiney, Katherine Bregy, Emily Hickey,
John Ayscough, Virginia M. Crawford, Evelyn Phillipps, and L.
March Phillipps.
Articles on religious questions of the day have been contributed
by Reverends Francis P. Duffy, John F. Fenlon, Joseph T. Mooney,
V.G., Thomas F. Burke, C.S.P., Joseph W. Daly, C.SS.R., Charles
Plater, SJ., and C. C. Martindale, S.J. — indeed, it would be too
great a task even to begin to cover the long list of distinguished
writers.
Sir Bertram C. A. Windle has kept our readers well informed
on scientific questions of importance; Max Turmann on the new
growth of the Church in France; and William F. Dennehy, with
Dr. Windle, on current Irish history.
In the department of "Recent Events" the readers of The
Catholic World have had, during the last ten years, a monthly
review of current history.
The pages entitled " New Books " keep them in touch with the
most recent publications. It is fair to say that The Cathouc
World presents reviews of two hundred and fifty new books every
six months. The mention of figures brings us to the material side
of things. The one hundred volumes of the magazine include
fourteen thousand fotu- hundred pages; this means about seven
million five hundred thousand words. In brief, the one hundred
volumes of The Catholic World form a Catholic library of which
any possessor may be proud.
The growth of our Holy Church in America during the years
that have passed since Father Hecker established The Catholic
World, has been little short of marvelous. Both in numbers and
in strength; in education; in philanthropy; in the apostolate of
the missions and of the press, the increase has been wonderful.
Looking towards the future our hearts cannot but be animated with
a great hope, and a greater zeal born of thanksgiving for the bless-
ings of the past.
The measure of our true growth is not primarily numbers,
or influence or external works. It is the spiritual life, the life
within, of every individual Catholic. It is the endeavor of every
individual to live in perfect accord with the teachings of our Holy
Church, for she alone is the Guardian of the teachings of Christ.
And that life must necessarily receive, both for the souls within,
I9IS-1 THE CATHOLIC WORLD 15
and those without the Church, its intelligent expression. It was
so from the banning; it is so to-day. The spiritual man is
unwilling to have his highest faculty of reason remain idle in the
service and love of God. Where there is no intelligent expression
of the Faith that is in us, and of the works which that Faith produces
— the Faith is marked by indiflference and decline. The abiding
burden and duty of every generation is to proclaim the glory and
merit of the truth of Christ in every field of human endeavor. That
truth alone sounds life to its fullest depth, and explains the final
worth of all human experience. Intellectualism is not spirituality :
it may be its enemy and destroyer. Nevertheless, spirituality, unless
directed by a thoroughly intelligent understanding of the teaching
of the Church, will rapidly become weak and emaciated, and degen-
erate into emotionalism.
Moreover, it is the duty of those who possess and who stand
for the truth of Christ, to know how that truth affects and guides
aright every activity of human kind Human society and its
institutions; the work of its well-being and its improvement; educa-
tion ; philanthropy ; the arts of letters, of music, of architecture —
all these will go lamentably wrong unless they be directed by the
teachings of Jesus Christ. His truth is the salvation of the world
in the fullest sense. Study, therefore, both of the healing power
and of the things that are to be healed is an essential requisite.
Sympathy, fairness, justice — these are characteristically spiritual
qualities of the zealous Catholic. Intelligent application both to
the tfuth to be expressed and the manner of its expression is abso-
lutely necessary. Because we possess the truth, we ought to be all
the more careful to present it in attractive and pleasing style.
Letters, not only because they may win the souls of men, but
also because they show forth in a far-distant way the beauty
of the Divine Intelligence Itself, have ever been a favorite child
of our Holy Church.
To draw men by the capable, intelligent expression of Catholic
truth; to make fairness and beauty of style an index of the
fairness and beauty within ; to show that Catholic truth illumines,
fulfills all, and leads man to the supernatural life of Jesus Christ,
was the lofty purpose of Father Hecker when he founded The
Catholic World. For fifty years his mission has endured. May
God grant u5 and our successors many, many years to continue it
for His glory and the glory of His Holy Church; for the welfare
of souls and the well-being of our beloved country — ^America.
i6
THE CATHOUC WORLD
[Apr
NOTED CONTRIBUTORS TO THE CATHOUC WORLD.
Adams, W. Marshall.
Aiken, Rev. Chas. F.
Allies, Mary* H. A.
Anglin, Hon. T. W.
Anstruther, G. Elliot
Atteridge, A. Hilliard.
Avcling, Rev. Francis.
Ayscough, John.
Azarias, Brother.
Baart, V. Rev. P. A.
Balfour, Charlotte.
Banim, Mary.
Barker, E. Raymond.
Barry, Rev. William.
Baussan, Charles.
Bayma, Rev. A.
Becker, Rev. C
Becket, John J. i.
Belloc, Hilaire.
Bellingham, Henry.
Benson, Mgr. R. Hugh.
Binsse, Louis B.
Blake, Mary Elizabeth.
Blunt, Rev. Hugh F.
Brady, Rev. Edward B.
Brandi, Rev. Salv. M.
Brann, Dr. Henry A.
Br6gy, Katherine.
Briggs, E. B.
Brownson, O. A.
Bruno we, Marion J.
Bugg, Letitia Hardin.
Burke, Rev. T. F.
Burke, S. Hubert
Bums, Rev. James A.
Burtsell, Rev. R. L.
Butler, Sir William.
Callan, P. A.
Callaghan, Rev. J. F.
Camm, Dom Bede.
Campbell, W. E.
Cantwell, Rev. Wm. P.
Carmichael, Montgomery.
Carroll, V. Rev. John P.
Cary, Emma F.
Cesnola, Gen. di.
Chatard, Rt. Rev. F. S.
Christitch, Elizabeth.
Qarke, R. H.
Cleary, Rev. James M.
Clifford, Rev. Cornelius.
Colum, Padraic
Concannon, Helen.
Concilio, Rev. J. de.
Conway, Rev. BertrandL.
Cormican, Patrick J.
Corrigan, M. Rev. M. A.
Courson, Comtesse de.
Cram, Ralph Adams.
Crawford, Virginia M.
Creagh, Rev. John T.
Croke, Wm. J. D.
Crowley, Mary C
Cuthbert, Rev. Father.
Dale, Darley.
Dease, Alice.
De Costa, Dr. B. F.
Dinnis, Enid.
Dennehy, Wm. F.
Deshon, Rev. Geo.
De Vere, Aubrey.
Dollard, Rev. James B.
Dorsey, E. L.
Dougherty, Rev. J. J.
Drake, Jeanie.
Driscoll, Rev. J. T.
Drouet, Rev. F.
Drum, Rev. Walter M.
Duffy, Rev. Francis P.
Dunn, Joseph.
Dunn, Rt Rev. Joseph P.
Dutto, Rev. L. A.
Earle, J. C
Egan, Maurice F.
Egerton, Ruth.
Elliott, Richard R.
Elliott, Rev. Walter.
Emery, S. L.
Faber, Agnes Marie.
Farley, John Cardinal
Farrell, R. F.
Favier, Rt Rev. Adolph.
Fenlon, Rev. John F.
Finn, Rev. Wna. J.
Finotti, Rev. J. F.
Fitz-Simons, Rev. Simon
Flood, W. H. Gratton.
Foley, Rev. M. F.
Formby, H.
Fox, Rev. Jas. J.
Freri, Very Rev. Joseph.
Ganss, Rev. H. G.
Gardner, Edmund G.
Gasquet, Aidan Cardinal.
Gerrard, Rev. Thomas J.
Gibbons, James Cardinal.
Gildea, Rev. Wm. L.
Gill, Thos. P.
Grafton, Rev. F. W.
Guiney, Louise Imogen.
Haines, Helen.
Handley, Rev. John M.
Harris, Wm. Laurel.
Hassard, J. R. G.
Hazeltine, M. W.
Healy. T. M.
Healy, Rev. Patrick J.
Hecker, V. Rev. L T.
Heinzle, Rev. J. U.
Henry, Ren6.
Herbermann, Chas. G.
Herbert, Lady.
Hewit, V. Rev. A F.
Hickey, Emily.
Higgins, Rev. E. A.
Howard, Rev. F. W.
Howard, George H.
Hughes, Rev. Thos.
Hughes, Katherine.
Hurl^, Edmund G.
Hyvemat, Rev. Henry.
Ireland, Most Rev. J.
Janssens, Most Rev. F.
Johnston, Rev. Julian E
Johnston, Rev. Ludan.
Johnston, R. M.
Keane, Most Rev. John J.
Keating, Rev. Joseph.
Keller, Rev. Jos. E
Kent, Henry Charles.
Kent, Rev. W. H.
19151
THE CATHOLIC WORLD
17
Kcosli. J. A.
Kerby, Rev. William J.
Kilmer, Joyce
Kitchin, Rev. Wm. P. H.
Klein. Abb^ Felix.
Lathrop, Rose H.
Lattcy, Rev. Cuthbert
Lavelle, Rev. M. J.
Lennox, P. J.
Lilly, W. S.
Looghlin, Rev. Jas. F.
Lomch, Rt Rev. T. A.
McCabe, Lada Rose.
McCarthy, J.
McCullagh, Francis.
McGee. J. K
McCready, Rev.' Chas.
McDonald, Rev. Alex.
McGoldrick, Thos. C
McLaughlin, J. Fairfax.
McMahon, Ella J.
McMahon, Rev. Jos. H.
MacManus, Suemas.
McMillan, Rev. Thos.
McNabb, Rev. Vincent
McSorley, Rev. Joseph.
McSweeny, Rt Rev. K
Maes, Rt Rev. C P.
Magevney, Rev. K
Maginnis, Chas. D.
Maher, Richard Aumerle.
Manning, Henry Cardinal
Mannix, Mary E.
Martindale, Rev. C. C
Median, Thos. F.
Meline, J. a
Meynell, Alice.
Mivart, St George.
Monaghan, J. C
Mooney, Rt Rev. J. F.
Moore, Rev. Thos. V.
Morgan, Appleton.
MulhoUand, Rosa.
Murphy, Rev. John T.
NanldveU, A. H.
NeUl, Esther W.
Nesbitt, Marian.
O'Connor, Armel.
O'Conor, Rev. J. V.
CGomian, Rt Rev. T.
CHagan, Thomas M. A.
CHara. Rev. Edwin V.
CyMeara, K.
O'Reilly, K Boyle.
O'Reilly, Mary Boyle.
O'Shea, John J.
Pace, Rev. Edw. A.
Fallen, Condc B.
Parsons, Rev. F. W.
Phillips, Charles.
Phillipps, Evelyn March.
Phillipps, L. March.
Plater, Rev. Charles.
Pope, Rev. Hugh.
Powers, Rev. Chas. J.
Preston, V. Rev. Thos. S.
Quinn, Rev. Daniel.
Quinlan, M F.
Raborg, S. A.
Rea, Robert
Reid, Christian.
ReiUy, Thomas B.
Repplier, Agnes.
Riordan, Rev. John J.
Rivington, Rev. Luke.
Robinson, Wm. C
Robinson, Rev. Paschal.
Rooncy, John J.
Rudd, F. A.
Ryan, Rev. John A.
Ryder, V. Rev. H. T. D.
Russell, H. P.
Sadlier, Anna T.
Sadlier, Mrs. J.
Scammon, Gen. R P.
Schroeder, V. Rev. Jos.
Scott, Mrs. Maxwell.
Scudder, Vida D.
Searle, Rev. Geo. M.
Seton, Elizabeth.
Seton, William.
Seton, Mgr. R.
Shahan, Rt Rev. Thos. J.
Shanahan, Rev. Ed. T.
Shea, J. G.
Sheehan, Rev. P. A.
Shields, Rev. Thomas K
Shipley, Orby.
Shipman, Andrew.
Smith, Rev. John Talbot
Smith, Rev. M. P.
Somerville, Henry.
Spalding, Rt Rev. J. L.
Starr, Eliza Allen.
Stockley, W. F. P.
Stone, Jean M.
Storer, Agnes C
Storer, Maria L.
Sullivan, Margaret F.
Taggart, Marion.
Taunton, Rev. K L.
Thompson, M. P.
Thurston, Herbert
Tincker, M A.
Turmann, Dr. Max.
Turner, Rev. William.
T3man, Katharine.
Vaughan, Rt Rev. H.
Vaughan, Rev. Kenelm.
Vaughn, Rev. John S.
Ward, Wilfrid.
Ward, Mrs. Wilfrid.
Walsh, Jas. J.
Walsh, Thomas.
Waggaman, M. T.
Walworth, Rev. C A.
Weibel, Rev. Geo. F.
Wilberforce, Rev. B.
Wilberforce, H. W.
Wilberforce, Wilfrid.
Wickham, Jos. Francis.
Windle,Sir Bertram C A.
Wiseman, Cardinal.
Woodlock, Thos. F.
Wyman, Rev. H. H.
Yorke, Rev. Peter C.
Young, Rev. A.
Zahm, Rev. Albert F.
VOL. C1.—2
i8
THE CATHOLIC WORLD
[Apt
A BRIEF SUMMARY OF SOME OF THE SUBJECTS TREATED
THE CATHOLIC WORLD.
Doctrinal and Apologetic,
Agnosticism to Christianity.
Americanism vs. Ultramontanism.
Baptist vs. Catholic
Bible, Popular Use of the.
Catholic and American Ethics.
Catholic and Democratic Ideals.
Catholic Church and the World.
Catholic Church and Nationalism.
Catholic Church vs. Secularism in U. S.
Catholicism, Protestantism, and Prog-
ress.
Catholicity and Pantheism.
Catholicity, Creative Genius of.
Charity and Philanthropy.
Christian Science, Is It Christian?
Church and State.
Church and the Press.
Church, State, and School.
Church, What Is a Living?
Completing the Reformation.
Education, of Children, Church or
State?
Education, Utilitarian, Liberal, and
Jesuit.
Faith and Un faith. Phases of.
Free Religion.
Humanism, The New.
Infallibility.
Independence of the Church.
Pope, Independence of the.
Ritualism.
Religious Liberty.
St Paul and the Holy Eucharist
Unity, Things That Make For.
Vatican Council.
Worship, Public.
Biographical.
Barat Life and Work of Madeleine
Louise Sophie.
Brebeuf, Father John de.
Brownson, Dr.
Campion, Edmond.
Carroll, Charles, of Carrollton.
Columbus.
Conscience, Hendrik.
Dongan, Hon. Thos., Gov. of N. Y.
Doyle, James, Bishop of Kildare.
Dubois, John, Bishop.
Duchesne, Mother.
Fabre, Jean Henri.
Fullerton, Lady Georgiana.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel.
Jacopone da Todi.
Joost van den Vondel.
Loras Mathias.
" Mallinckrodt, Herman J. von."
Manning, Cardinal.
Mathew, Theobald
Newman, Cardinal.
O'Connell, Daniel.
O'Reilly, John Boyle.
Proctor, Adelaide Anne.
Savonarola, Jerome.
Starr, Eliza Allen.
Vaughan, Cardinal, Third Archbishop
of Westminster.
Fiction.
Ancient and Honorable.
Annals of a Vendean.
Daybreak.
Dion and the Sibyls.
Grapes and Thorns.
Lisheen.
O'Loghlin of Gare.
" Out of the Depths."
The Carrier of Christ
The Chariot Racers.
The House of Shadows.
The House of Yorke.
The Red Ascent
The Red Pipe.
Through Quiet Ways.
Historical.
American History, Sources of.
America's Obligations to France.
Anglican Orders.
Anti-Catholic Movements in U. S.
Bismarck and the Jesuits.
Catholic Church in Denmark, The
J9I51
THE CATHOLIC WORLD
19
Catholic Church in New York.
Catholicity in New Jersey, Early An-
nals of.
Catholic Missions in Maine, 1613-1854.
Catholic Prelates as American Diplo-
mats.
Catholics in American Revolution.
Catholic University, American.
Catholic Universities of France.
Chili, The Irish in.
Conscience, Rights of.
Congresses, Catholic
Detroit, Early Social Life in.
D^linger, Dr., The Apostasy of.
Draper, J. W., M.D.
En^ish Catholics and Public Life.
Freemasonry, Italian Documents of.
French Canada and Its People.
FrencJi-Canadian Men of Letters.
Galileo-Galilei, the Florentine Astron-
omer.
Gallicanism, The True Origin of.
QadsUme's Misrepresentation of the
Catholic Chnrch.
Grant, U. S., His Speech at Des
Moines, 1875.
Home Rule Bill, The New.
Ireland and the Irish.
Ireland — Churches, Ancient and Mod-
em.
Ireland, Education in. Past and Pres-
ent
Ireland, English Rule in.
Ireland, Home Rule for.
Ireland in the Future.
Ireland, Protestant Church of.
Ireland, Protestant Proselytism in.
Ireland's Argument
Ireland's Martyrs.
Ireland's Mission.
Ireland's Moderation.
Irish Brigades in France.
Irish in America.
Italian Unity.
Jesuit Martyrs of the Commune.
Joan of Arc and the Franciscans.
Jogues, Father Isaac, S.J.
Leo Xin.
Marquette, Father James, S.J.
Mexico.
Mill, John Stuart, Autobiography.
Missionary Outlook in the U. S.
Missions, Early, m California.
Napoleon I. and Pius VII.
Oxford Movement, The.
Oxford University.
Philippines, The.
Protestant Episcopal Church.
Protestantism in Cuba.
Prussia and the Church.
Reformation, The.
Religion in Our State Institutions.
Religious Liberty in U. S., Rise of.
Russian Church, The.
St Patrick, Life of.
Spain.
Tocqueville, Alexis de.
Washington and the Church.
Washington's Catholic Aidc-de-Camp.
What Europe Owes to Italy.
Literary.
Bancroft, H. H.
Barlow, Jane.
Beardsley, Aubrey.
Belgium, Catholic Poets of.
Benson, R. H.
Blunt, Wilfrid S.
Books, How to Use.
Browning, Robert
Bryant, William Cullen, his Iliad.
Bunyan and Plagiarism.
Canadian Poets and Poetry.
Catholic and Secular Press.
Catholic Libraries.
Catholic Publication Society.
Celtic Anthology.
Celtic Languages.
Christmas Carols.
Dante.
Dowson, Ernest: An Interpretation.
De Vere, Aubrey.
Disraeli.
Duffy, Sir Charles Gavan.
Emerson.
Epigrams.
Griffin, Gerald.
Guerin, Maurice de.
Hamlet
Heaven in Recent Fiction.
Idylls of the King, Meaning of.
Lowell, J. R.
Marius, the Epicurean.
Morris, William.
Newman's Poems.
Novel, Use and Abuse.
20
THE CATHOLIC WORLD
[Ap
Nuns in Fiction.
Rossetti, C G.
Rosctti, D. G.
Ruskin as a Teacher.
Shakespeare.
Shaw, Bernard.
Southwell, Robert: Poet, Priest, and
Martyr.
Tennyson, Alfred.
Thackeray, Letters of.
Thompson, Francis.
Whittier, John Greenleaf.
Wordsworth, Recollections of.
Wordsworth's Poetry, Wisdom and
Truth of.
Philosophical,
Animals, Souls of.
Biology, A Half -Century in.
Blindfolding the Mind.
Cartesian Doubt, The.
Centenary of Scientific Thought, A.
Christianity and Positivism.
Cousin, Victor,
Darwinism.
Dogma and Symbolism.
Evolution.
Ontologism and Psychologism.
Philosophy, American.
Property, Rights and Duties of.
Socialism and Labor.
Spiritualism.
Sociological.
Abstinence, Catholic Total.
Canada Solves the Problems We Shirk,
How.
Catholic Charities of New York.
Catholic Charities.
Catholic Education, Lessons of a Cen-
tury of.
Catholic Young Men's Societies.
Charities, Private, and Public Money.
Charities, Public
Crime, English and Irish.
Duties of the Rich in Christian Society
Education, The Higher.
Elective System of Studies.
Immigration, Philosophy of.
Indian Question, The.
Intemperance: the Evil and the Rem-
edy.
Labor Movement, Views of.
Laymen, Organize th^
Libraries, Family, Parish, and Sunday
School.
Liquor-Traffic, The Management of.
Minimum Wage Laws to Date.
Negro Problem and Catholic Church.
New York, Homeless Poor of. i
Prisons, Religion in. I
Public School Question.
Rural Credit Legislation.
School Question, The.
School, The American State and the
Private.
Social Reform, Principles in.
Wage Legislation for Women.
Wage, A Living.
Womanhood, Catholic, and the Social-
istic State.
Miscellaneous.
Art and Religion.
Balloons.
Church Music vs. Church Chant
Comet, New, and Comets in General.
End of the Worid.
Heraldry.
Hypnotics.
Is There a Companion World to Our
Own?
Mechanics, Molecular.
Physical Basis of Life, The.
Plurality of Worids, The.
Species, Immutability of.
Spiritism and Spiritists.
Sun's Place in the Universe.
Detailed mention of the verse contributed to The Cathouc
World has been omitted, because the mere title of the poems would
be no index to their merit. If published entire the poems would fill
a large-sized volume, and make an anthology of unusual worth.
FIFTT TEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION.
BY THOMAS J. SHAHAN, D.D.,
Bishop of Germanicopolis,
Rector of the Catholic University of America,
|N 1866, a year after the foundation of The Cathouc
World, the Bishops of the United States assembled
in the Second Plenary Council of Baltimore, gave a
new impetus to the educational movement which has
faied these fifty years with increasing effort and
achievement. The movement itself was not new; its beginnings
lay far back in the early days when the missionaries taught the
Indians whom they converted. It had progressed through the colonial
period before either Hierarchy or Republic was established. It had
borne its fruits of loyalty to the Union and survived the shock of
the Civil War. At the time of the Council there were parochial
schools, academies, and colleges serving the cause of Catholic educa-
tion in all parts of the coimtry. The Fathers of the Council gave
due recognition and credit to the work as they foimd it; but they
also saw its possibilities, and realized the need of strengthening and
expanding it to meet greater requirements.
It is not, then, the origin of Catholic education that concerns
us at present so much as its development during a half century which
has been marked by rapid and manifold variations in our religious,
educational, and national conditions. By its adaptation to the
changing environment the Catholic school has manifested, in its
own degree, the vitality which is characteristic of the Church; or,
' it may well be said, the growth of the school is one of the most strik-
ing evidences of vigor in our Catholic religious life, second only to
the progressive hierarchical organization of the Church itself. In-
deed, one of the most important signs of our progress is the convic-
tion, now deeply rooted in the minds of pastor and people, that the
Catholic school is indispensable. It is no longer a merely desirable
thing or a luxury ; it is a necessity. It has become more and more
necessary each year ; it has thriven upon difficulties, and turned to
its advantage the very circumstances that apparently threatened its
existence.
22 FIFTY YEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION [April,
The mere fact that a body of American citizens, scarcely one-
eighth of the whole population, should have built up and main-
tained an educational system of their own, parallel to, yet inde-
pendent of, the public schools, is remarkable. Had the purpose
been commercial, the promoters would have been credited with
enterprise. Had it been political, they would have been praised, or
blamed, for their shrewdness. And if their aim had been to exploit
a special set of theories, pedagogical or scientific or economic, they
would have been known, for better or worse, as enthusiasts. It is
also probaWe that their work would have gone the way of so many-
other enthusiasms.
The significance of the Catholic school lies rather in its dis-
tinctive purpose, which is the combination of religious and moral
training with intellectual culture. It does not claim to have the only
successful method of teaching the subjects usually included in the
curriculum, but it docs insist that faith and virtue are quite as es-
sential in the training of men and women as are knowledge and
skill. It accepts the findings of science, and yet it holds that they
must be completed with a larger truth. It cherishes the arts, but
above these it places the art of living. It recognizes the right and
the duty of the State to provide the citizen with education, while it
contends that righteousness is the .first essential in good citizenship.
That with such principles as its policy it should not only have con-
tinued to exist, but should have grown and prospered exceedingly
during the past half century, is the most striking fact in the educa-
tional activity of the Church, and also, it may fairly be said, of the
entire country during this periocl.
The import of this fact will be more clearly perceived if we
remember that during these fifty years the Church has been obliged
to meet countless demands of every kind. Besides the regular work
of organizing many new dioceses, provision had to be made for the
needy and suffering, for missions at home and abroad, for the
thousand exigencies and emergencies to which charity alone is equal.
All these works of mercy called for expenditure of energy and zeal
no less than of material means. But it was evident that the faith
which prompts generous giving and doing could not be safeguarded
unless its teachings formed a part of education. It was not enough
to build beautiful churches unless these had the school as their
buttress. Nor would the most careful training of the clergy have
guaranteed the prosperity of religion if the education of the laity
had been neglected. The preaching of the Word is essential ; it is
I9IS-1 FIFTY YEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION 23
the sowing of the seed. Yet the Master Himself has taught us
how much depends on the quality of the ground and its due
preparation.
What the harvest will be when religion is excluded from the
sdiool is not very hard to foresee : it might have been foretold with-
out the experience of the past fifty years. At any rate, with the
facts now before us» it is no longer a matter of speculation. In
their own forceful, though unpleasing, way the results show how
fully justified were the admonitions of the Second Plenary Council.
On the other hand, they bring out in clearer relief the meaning of
the Catholic school and of its success. The unwillingness of other
schools to teach religion or morality in any definite form has be-
come, during the period under consideration, more and more pro-
nounced. It has made its way into State constitutions and legisla-
tive enactments. In too many minds it has developed the idea that
education has nothing to do with conduct and less with conscience.
How far such a view may be acceptable to those outside the Church,
is just here an irrelevant question. It certainly could not and cannot
be entertained by Catholics. But for this very reason the growth
of our schools is all the more noteworthy. They have adhered to
their aim in spite of the widening tendency toward a purely secular
education, and thereby they have become the strongest, if not the
only, educational agencies for the furtherance of Christianity.
Looked at under a somewhat different angle, this unique posi-
tion suggests a spirit which was once quite powerful in the American
mind, and which even now might be quickened to good purpose.
For we still hear many proclamations about individual liberty and
the sacredness of personal rights. Now if there be a freedom that
every citizen of this country ought to cherish, it surely is the freedom
to hav6 his children properly educated. For their welfare he is
responsible to the Creator ; and while human s^^ithority can aid him
in the discharge of his duty, it may not thwart him or trample upon
his conscience. Where this form of liberty is secure and its exer-
cise unhampered, there is reason to hope that other liberties will be
preserved. In this respect, therefore, the Catholic school, as a free
institution based on the worthiest of motives, is doing its share
toward upholding the freedom which is so precious to all our
citizens.
Patriotism of this sort is hard enough to arouse and maintain
in a homogeneous population ; it is harder still when the people is
a composite of many nationalities. The process of assimilation has
24 FIFTY YEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION [April,
been carried on in this country on a larger scale and with greater
success than in any other part of the world. It has been largely the
work of the American school and, in a very peculiar way, of the
Catholic school. But to the latter it has presented problems of a
special kind which the public schools did not undertake to solve.
The Catholic immigrant brought his children into surroundings
which were quite different from those of their native cotmtry, from
its religious traditions, its immemorial customs and its historic as-
sociations. If it was necessary to make Americans of these new-
comers, it was even more essential to see that their faith was pre-
served. They had to be taught that, however their political and
social relations might be changed by coming to this cotmtry, their
religious duties were the same here and everywhere. While seeking
a livelihood and struggling with material conditions, they had,
nevertheless, to be kept alert for their spiritual interests and watch-
ful of their best inheritance. Their education was at once a pre-
serving and a transforming process.
With these various tasks before it, the Catholic school could
not remain at a standstill ; it was compelled by pressure from within
and from without to go steadily forward. Advance in one direc-
tion necessitated and made possible advance in every other direction.
As the nature and scope of education came to be more generally un-
derstood, it was recognized that continuity was essential, that Cath-
olic education could not afford to stop at the close of the primary
school, and that, consequently, institutions of a higher sort were
heeded. To give the child his early training under Catholic in-
fluences, and then let him go elsewhere just as he was beginning to
think and to question, would have been a hazardous procedtwe. In
many cases it would have defeated the purpose and thrown away
the results of elementary education.
In this respect, therefore, as in many others, the growth of our
parochial schools is what first impresses us as we turn to a closer
survey of the half century. The Second Plenary Council, after
pointing out the dangers to which Catholic children were exposed
in other schools, declares that " the best, nay, the only remedy for
these evils and hardships is the establishment, in every diocese and
in connection with each church, of schools wherein Catholic youth
shall be taught the various branches of knowledge and shall be
trained in religion and morality as well In these schools con-
ducted under the pastor's eye, the dangers which we have already
noted in the public schools will be avoided ; our children will be
191 51 FIFTY YEARS OP CATHOLIC EDUCATION 25
safeguarded against rapidly spreading indifferentism ; they will
learn to walk steadfastly in the Catholic path, and from their
earliest years to bear the yoke of the Lord."
That the exhortation has been heeded can be seen by any-
one who is acquainted with the work of a Catholic parish.
Whether in the populous city or in the outlying coiuitry, the church
and the school stand side by side as centres of activity. The pastor
is in touch with his people because through the school he forms
the character of the child and renders the parent invaluable service.
His influence reaches the home, not by an occasional visit, but
through a daily ministration of which the pupil is the medium.
With a practical psychological insight he knows that the children of
to-day will be the home-makers of to-morrow. He has no theory
about " empty churches," because he never sees them on the inside.
But he does know why his services are crowded in summer as well
as in winter, and why his people, both men and women, approach
the sacraments regularly. The efforts he makes in behalf of his
school are the best investment of his zeal, and the returns are
abundant in proportion.
The parish priest in this country is a man of many occupations.
As organizer, builder, gatherer, and distributor of charity he is
tireless. But it is especially in the field of education that his
priestly devotion is manifested. There he builds, from its very
foundations, the temple of the spirit; there, too, he is father and
teacher in all that pertains to the life of the soul, its opportunities
and its dangers. If the growth of the parochial school is an index
of Catholic progress, it is also an unmistakable evidence of the
loyalty and earnestness with which our priests are inspired.
Happily, the same qualities are found in those who have im-
mediate charge of our schools, the teachers who in a literal sense
have left all things to follow Christ. For them education is no
mechanical progfress; it is a sacred work in which they cooperate
with God's design. In the child they see not only mental capacities
that are to be unfolded, but a life that is to be shaped and a soul
that is to be saved. Of unselfishness and .virtue and sacrifice they
speak by practice as well as by precept. They are teachers by pro-
fession and yet more by consecration. The parochial school claims
our gratitude on many accounts, but in a high and peculiar degree
we are indebted to it as giving occasion and scope for the zeal of our
teaching communities. They have indeed the advantage of form-
ing the child's mind while it is yet plastic; but they have also the
26 FIFTY YEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION [April,
responsibility. The importance of their duty and their fidelity
in performing it are more fully appreciated now that we realize the
need of articulating the primary schools with those which are more
advanced. That we have come in this way to see how much our
whole educational work depends on the parochial school and its
teachers, is one of the most valuable results of the experience of
these fifty years.
It is obvious to say that the progress of our academies and
colleges is due in no small measure to the growth of the elementary
schools in number and efficiency. Better work in the grades means
better preparation for college ; and while it is true that the majority
of our children so far do not go on to collegiate courses, it is also
to be noted that the college has been able to raise its standards and
to improve the quality of its instruction. But the college again
has its own functions and its own grave responsibilities ; and these,
during the half century, have rapidly increased. Serving as a
shelter to youth in the storm and stress period, it has to deal with
the most delicate problems that education offers in the moral sphere
no less than in the intellectual. It has to equip men for actual life
whether in the professions or in other pursuits. As the conditions
of success lay new and more exacting demands upon the student,
the college must supply ampler facilities and secure better results.
Above all, it must foresee the perils to which its graduates will be
exposed, and provide them with the requisite strength of faith and
character.
These obligations our Catholic colleges, directed by the religious
Orders, the congregations of Brothers, or the diocesan clergy, have
fulfilled with a devotion and a success that compel admiration.
Their endowment has consisted mainly of loyalty to the Church,
of love for youth and of luifailing courage. But the outcome is
visible in the thousands of alumni who have taken high rank in
business or professional service, and who by their upright lives pay
eloquent tribute to the teachers who made of them men and
Christians.
While the characteristic work of the college has been the
preservation of Catholic youth from increasing danger to faith and
morals, it has not always been possible to furnish opportunities of
the highest education under like favorable circumstances. Natur-
rally, then, the conviction grew that to complete the development
begun in parochial school and college, an institution was needed
which should unite all the departments of knowledge, and alt the
1915.] FIFTY YEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION 27
requisites for culture, scientific investigation, and professional train-
ing. " Would that we had a university in which all the branches
of knowledge both sacred and profane might be taught." Such
was the desire expressed by the Second Plenary Council ; the realiza-
tion was to come twenty-three years later when, in answer to the
petition of the Third Plenary Council, Leo XIII. granted a pontifical
charter to the Catholic University of America.
This founding of a studium generate was not a new thing in
the history of the Papacy : it was but a repetition in this age and
country of what was done seven centuries ago when the first uni-
versities of Europe came into existence. In scope and organization
our Catholic University had for its model the institutions that were
the glory of Paris and Oxford, of Bologna, Heidelberg, and Vienna.
In the same spirit of cooperation, the religious Orders have grouped
their houses of study around the University as did their mediaeval
predecessors. Here too, as in the Middle Ages when faith was
strong and the Holy See supreme among the nations, theology and
philosophy and the sciences of nature are harmoniously combined ;
clergy and laity alike have their share in government and instruc-
tion ; laymen and clerics, in one student body, pursue their several
courses of study. Thus, partly at least, the University within
twenty-five years has realized the intention of Leo XIII. and the
desire of his successors. For this great step in advance, the Church
of America owes deepest gratitude to the Holy See, whose wisdom
and foresight has given Catholic education its most powerful
stimulus.
The establishment and growth of the University has shown our
people that the Church is determined to bring within their reach
the whole range of learning. It has brought them a keener ap-
preciation of higher education; and it has aroused in them, to a
degree never felt before, an interest in educational questions. On
their side the people have given a quick and generous response.
Individuals and organizations, though burdened with many other
concerns in behalf of religion, have contributed in greater measure
than ever to the support of our schools both elementary and ad-
vanced. The result is something unique in the history of educa^
tion : a body of citizens bearing, through taxation, their share of
the cost of schools controlled by the State and, through love of re*-
ligion, the entire expense of a ^stem which is doing more than any
other for the best interests of the country.
In its principal aim, Catholic education has always and every^
28 FIFTY YEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION [Ai>rj
where found a reason for unity; but the Catholic educational ^ys
tem in the stricter sense is a recent development The utility
the need of closer cooperation among our forces have been
phasized both by our own conditions and by those that are extenxsJ
We surely are not, either numerically or financially, in a position
that would justify or even suggest the least waste of effort or the
slightest neglect of any agency that could be helpful. A common
purpose implies a common understanding of ways and means. In-
stead of toiling in isolation our teachers should have the opportunity
of knowing what others are doing, what movements are astir, what:
methods have been tested or proposed, what defects are still to be
remedied. With the necessary information at their disposal they
could be counted on for more united action and therefore for better
results.
Considerations of this sort led to the organization of the Catho-
lic Educational Association, which during the past decade has gone
very far in the way of concerted endeavor. It has brought our edu-
cators together in annual meetings for the discussion of urgent
problems. Through the exchange of views among our teachers, it
has enabled each to benefit by the experience of all. What is
specially important, it has brought out clearly, even in visible form,
the fact that in our unity there is a power for good and in our co-
operation the assurance of success.
To obtain the desired result in this constructive movement, each
factor must contribute zealously and efficiently. The adoption of
good methods is useful, as are also the revision of the curriculum,
the raising of standards and the correlation of studies. But these
things do not work automatically. They presuppose intelligent
choice and execution, not only on the part of those who take the
initiative, but also on the part of the individual workers. As the
competent teacher is the life of the school, the preparation of the
teacher is vital to the entire system. Hence it is encouraging to
note the progress that has been made of late years in the training of
our teachers under Catholic auspices. For this purpose summer
schools and institutes are excellent; they supply in part the needed
instruction, and they naturally arouse in the teachers the desire for
more complete and systematic courses, such as have recently been
organized in the Catholic Sisters' College affiliated to the University.
The first to profit by this instruction are the teachers themselves;
but through them the parochial schools, and eventually the colleges
reap the benefit. There is thus established a thorough and healthy
1915-1 FIFTY YEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION 29
orculation whereby the whole system is invigorated, and each part
is enabled to exert its full capacity to the best effect. The need
of antiseptic measures is proportionately reduced.
As might have been expected, our educational advance, in
solving some of the older problems, has brought up others that are
equally urgent. But this is no reason for discouragement; it is
rather a sign of progress and an occasion for more earnest endeavor.
There is yet much to be done, for instance, in regard to the high
school and the readjustment which it calls for in primary and
secondary education. The curriculum also is a topic that no amount
of discussion seems likely to exhaust. Even more immediate per-
haps is the need of textbooks suited to the spirit and purpose of
our teaching. It is not sufficient that they abstain from slurs or
attacks on religion; they must give it positive support. Every sub-
ject taught in our schools can and should be made a source of in-
spiration that will permeate the mind with the thought of God
and quicken the sense of duty. The religious atmosphere is
necessary, but it will not sustain life if the right kind of mental
nourishment be lacking.
As to the teaching of religion itself, it may suffice here to recall
the admonition given to the pastor by the Second Plenary Council :
While he strives to educate children in the knowledge of
things divine, let his whole endeavor be to do what St. Augus-
tine praises in the Catholic Church — to teach children as chil-
dren: pueros pueriliter docere, that is, in the easy and simple
manner which befits their weakness and immaturity. Let him
explain the highest mysteries of faith in such wise as to adapt
himself to their age and capacity. Even though, as frequently
happens, adults should be present in the church during the
catechism lesson, let the teacher never make use of high-sound-
ing, unfamiliar words or modes of expression; but let him
employ only those that are simple, clear and plain of meaning,
and which can readily be understood by all, even by the slowest
children. " He who teaches," as St. Augustine pertinently de-
clares, " should not be at pains as to how much eloquence there
is in his speech but as to how much clearness. For the sake of
such clearness he will at times pass over the nicety of words ;
he will give heed not to what sounds well but to what explains
well and carries straight to the mind the meaning he seeks
to convey Of what avail is perfectly rounded diction if the
intelligence of the hearers (Joes pot follow it — seeing that there
30 FIFTY YEARS OF CATHOLIC EDUCATION [Apri
is no reason whatever for speaking if what we say is not under
stood by those to whom we speak just to make them under
stand."
It is certainly to be hoped that these words of the great
theologian and of the Council will serve as guidance for all who
are called to teach religion in the school or to prepare textbooks in
this most important of subjects. Pueros pueriliter docere is an ideal
which every teacher should strive for : it is the aim which education
based on psychology has, seemingly, discovered in these latter times,
but which in reality has for centuries inspired the teaching of the
Church as it formed the central element in the method of Christ.
It is doubtless well that we have learned from these fifty years
how much remains to be done. But it is none the less our duty
to recognize with gratitude what the pioneers have accomplished.
We have ample reason to thank Almighty God for the growth of
Catholic education ; and the best proof of our thankfulness will be
our renewed efforts for progress. The work is His, and He it is
Who " giveth the increase."
CATHOLIC LETTERS AND THE CATHOLIC WORLD.
BY AGNES REPPLIER.
|HE Golden Jubilee of The Catholic World is a
triumph for Catholic letters in the United States.
It represents fifty years of heroic labor, crowned by
honorable achievement. To anyone who, like the
writer, remembers the first introduction of The
World into the field of American periodicals — then so empty and
^Micious, now crowded to suffocation — its long career seems like
a kindly miracle. But those who have stood at the helm know by
what unflinching efforts this miracle has been accomplished.
Sudi an anniversary invokes memories, and awakens conjec-
ture. The theme of Catholic literature is too vast to be lightly
handled, and it has a thousand aspects full of profound suggestive-
ness. A universal Church must express itself in letters as in
ardiitecture ; and it must so express itself as to be intelligible and
accessible to men of all nations, all ages, and all degrees. St. Thomas
Aquinas, Dante, the Cathedral of Chartres (which God save from
German howitzers!) — these are the pinnacles. They pierce the
dusk of Qjftturies. They tower above the level of humanity. They
hold the homage of the world. But there are chapels to be built
for littie summer congregations of tradespeople and servant maids.
There are histories to be written for the Catholic child in its convent
school. There are many humble divisions of the majestic whole;
all of them full of purpose, full of possibilities, and worthy of the
utmost effort for the honor of the cause they uphold.
It is to be forever regretted that the divisions in the Christian
Church have bred in all of us a spirit of controversy. We are not
only involved in argument, which is bad enough; but we are ex-
pected to show our paces, which is a very grievous burden. The
historians whom I read in my youth, Froude, Macaulay, Motley,
were of the contentious school. They were always making out a
case for somebody, always arranging and rearranging their evidence
in the most favorable or the most damning light. Even Mr. Green
had fixed views and a settled purpose, which it was but too easy
to recognize; and as for poor Miss Strickland — whom all girls of
my day were expected to read conscientiously — her troubles began
32 Catholic letters [Apr
with the birth of her beloved church, and are set forth pathetical
in a passage (at which it would be cruel to laugh) in the preface 1
her Queens of England.
" Katherine Parr is our first Protestant queen, and the nursin
mother of the Reformation. There is only another Protestan
queen-consort, Anne of Denmark " (the history goes no further thai
1 714), "and the three queens regnant, Elizabeth, Mary IL, an<
Anne. Undoubtedly these princesses would have been bettei
women if their actions had been more conformable to the principles
inculcated by the pure and apostolic doctrines of the Church oi
England."
It is the necessity of saying or intimating something of this
sort which handicaps history written with a sectarian bias. The
only alternative appears to be such frank falsehoods as those of
Mr. Froude, which are too robustly evident to deceive. " Froude,"
says Mr. Birrell kindly, " did not mind blimdering about his facts.
A misquotation or two never disturbed his night's rest." Nor docs it
ours. We say " one more," shrug our shoulders, and turn the page.
But after reading histories of this mettlesome breed, what rest and
refreshment await us in the older chronicles of Froissart, of Join-
ville, of Philip de Commines — ^men who tranquilly narrated what
they found to tell, without caring whether such incidents were cal-
culated to edify or to scandalize, men who never for a moment
dreamed that the eternal verities of religion depended on the be-
havior of kings.
Had Philip de Commines felt it necessary to beatify Louis XL
as Froude felt it necessary to beatify Henry VIIL, the result would
have been every whit as gfrotesque. But no such sense of obli-
gation troubled the courtly historian. " Our good master, Louis,
whom may God pardon," he writes composedly, and with a lively
recognition of how much there was to forgive. " The king was
very liberal to the Church; and in some respects more than was
necessary, for he robbed the poor to give to the rich. But, in this
world, no one can arrive at perfection."
Had Froissart felt it necessary to state that Isabeau of Bavaria
"would undoubtedly have been a better woman, if her actions had
been more conformable to the principles inculcated by the pure and
apostolic doctrines of the Church of Rome," we should see in him
either the apologist of the queen, or the champion of the Faith. It
never occurs to him to be either. " She (Isabeau) was a valiant
lady, whom God loved and corrected," is his single comment
1915.] CATHOLIC LETTERS 33
Readers of history may judge for themselves what was the need
and quality of the correction.
Even Joinville, who had such a magnificent text as St. Louis,
writes with a transparent and disconcerting sincerity. Only a
chronicler who antedated the Reformation could have ventured to
tell us the scandalous story of the mortal sins — ^how the king asked
him one day if he would rather have committed a mortal sin, or be
a leper ; and how he had answered : " Sire, I would rather have
committed thirty mortal sins than be a leper ;" and how sternly Louis
had rebuked him for such unchristian words. Love and reverence
for his master filled Joinville's whole being; yet he saw plainly that
France suffered when the king left for the Crusade, and he felt
plainly that a monarch's first duty was to the people whom he ruled.
Once he accompanied Louis, and fought valiantly by his side. The
second time he refused to go, bluntly replying to all expostulation
that he had no mind the vassals on his estate should be ruined by
his piety.
Mr. Hilaire Belloc says truthfully that Europe and its de-
velopment are a Catholic thing. " The Catholic Faith was the for-
mative soul of European civilization. Wherever it was preserved,
there the European tradition in art, law, marriage, property, every-
thing, was preserved also." Therefore it is that the Catholic reads
history unconfusedly. He does not regard it from without, but
from within. "He feels in his own nature the nature of its
progress." Some insight into this truth disquieted so admirable a
scholar as the Rev. Mark Pattison, Rector of Lincoln College, a
man who could never tranquilly adjust his stores of erudition. The
Church of Rome fretted him, because he thought it " characteristic
of Catholicism that it supersedes reason, and prejudges all matters
by the application of fixed rules." The Church of England fretted
him because he thought it had " no true grasp of Christian history.
The only clue to the past is not in its hands. It has a set of
borrowed dogmata, but no theology."
A due to the past ! It is more than a clue — it is the key of the
past which the Church holds in her sacred keeping, and only when
she unlocks the door do we see the stately procession of the cen-
turies, linked indissolubly one with another, comprehensible to the
clear eyes of faith, beautiful to the serene understanding which
comes of Christian charity. Now and then a sturdy Protestant,
like Carlyle, throws the flash light of his genius upon one impelling
figure, and, by sheer force of sympathy, illuminates it forever. At
VOL. a.— 3
34 CATHOLIC LETTERS [.
his bidding there steps out from the turmoil of the twelfth ceiii
Samson, Abbot of St Edmundsbury, a man of mean estate
high attainments, fit illustration of that triumphant democ:
which brought to the cloister, the bishopric, and the Papacy the ^
element of worth.
To Carlyle, Samson was endeared beyond measure because
did so much and said so little; for, by the irony of circtunstai
the Scotchman, who could never hold his peace upon any subj
sincerely loved and reverenced silence. To us the great abbot is
one more illustration of that serenity which comes of unchallen^
faith. He was a devout man, 'but he was also a very bi
man. His life held no leisure for polemics, although the monastc
library was his pride and joy. Religion was to him as his da
bread, " which he did not take the trouble to talk much abot
which he merely ate at stated intervals, and lived, and did his woi
upon. This," says Carlyle, was " Abbot Samson's CathoUcis
of the twelfth century." It deserves notice when we contempla
the splendors of the century which followed. It is a link in tl:
chain, a part of the indestructible whole.
The past's tremendous disarray,
the sinister present in which we live, the perilous future darkenin|
before our eyes — what can survive unhurt this grim procession oi
the years, save only the Church of God? What can unite "les
ames bien nees "of every age and race, save only the faith which
made of Abbot Samson seven hundred years ago, as it makes of
Cardinal Mercier to-day, a valiant man, an undaunted patriot, and a
true servant of God.
In the Religio Medici of Sir Thomas Browne, a devout and
gentle writer of whom Mr. Pater said that his religion was "all pure
profit," we find a passage which, albeit somewhat archaic in lan-
guage, is painfully modem in sentiment It marks the stride which
the world had made from the blithe acceptance of faith to the pro-
cesses of perpetual challenge. "There are," says Sir Thomas,
" as in philosophy, so in divinity, sturdy doubts and boisterous ob-
jections, wherewith the unhappiness of our knowledge too nearly
acquaints us." Here we find ourselves embarked upon the familiar
sea of controversy and contention, which, if it begets strenuous ef-
fort and clear, sharp-edged thinking, is as fatal to letters as to art
A " Roman Priest Conversion Branch Tract Society " is not cal-
1915.] CATHOLIC LETTERS 35
culated to provide the world with literature. The resonant beauty
of the English Liturgy failed to commend it to the Calvinistic Synod
of Poictiers, which expressed a pious doubt as to whether Satan
was not the author thereof. Blanco White, a man whose lack of
humor was nicely balanced by his lack of taste, edited a Rationalist
d Kempis. Mr. Edgeworth, famous as an educator, and as the
father of his daughter, advised that Greek and Roman history
should not be taught in the Irish schools. " They inculcate democ-
racy, and a foolish hankering after undefined liberty. This is
peculiarly dangerous to Ireland."
Everywhere the same note of doubt, of disturbance, of rejec-
tion. Everywhere something to be readjusted or withheld. No-
where a serene acceptance of large, impelling issues. Fiction, de-
signed by the relenting fates to be our solace and diversion, took
arms and pricked us nastily. When I was a little girl, the stories
in my convent library betrayed the trust I put in them. They fol-
lowed the principle set forth sardonically by Mr. Henry Harland's
cardinal (he who lost and found his snuff-box) — that is, they steeped
themselves in controversy, and invited their heretic to a course of
instruction. I, poor child, fresh from catechism and Christian
doctrine, was assailed by these false friends, as though I had been
the heretic in question, and badgered as shamefully as I have been
badgered since by Robert Elsmere and John Ward, Preacher, and
the whole kit and crew of controversial novels. May the waves of
oblivion dose over their heads, and the story-reading world find
peace!
And now in the jubilee year of The Catholic World, the
field of Catholic letters is a fair one. The death of Monsignor
Benson hit us hard. Only his fatal fluency, the fluency of a family
drenched in ink, held him back from the highest excellence. I never
saw the notice of a new book, or of half-a-dozen new books by
Robert Hugh and Arthur Christopher Benson, without thinking of
that matchless passage of Landor's, in which Joseph Scaliger com-
ments upon the fewness of Montaigne's books. Montaigne replies
somewhat tartly that fourscore volumes are not " few." Scaliger
observes that he and his father together have written well-nigh
that number. " Ah," says the smiling Montaigne, " to write them
is quite another thing. But one reads books without a spur, or
even a pat from our Lady Vanity." It is because Monsignor Ben-
son found it so perilously easy to write, that we have side by side
a delicate masterpiece like None Other Gods, and a lifeless historical
36 CATHOLIC LETTERS [/
novel like Oddsfish, hundreds of pages reeled off as thoug-h
were thread from a bobbin.
A survey of Catholic literature, even of modem Kng:
French, and American Catholic literature, would fill the jubilee n
ber of The Catholic World. It would leave no space for ol
claimants. How deal with Cardinal Newman in a single page,
with Francis Thompson in a paragraph? How dispose of Mr. i
Mrs. Wilfrid Ward and of Mr. and Mrs. Meynell in
few scamped lines? How move on rapidly from Aubrey
Vere to Father Tabb, gathering and dropping flowers
verse by the way? If I quote but a single poem out of the abi
dance spread before me, it is because this poem by Louise Imog
Guiney has in it a quality of courage, of high, undaunted, and he
happiness, which we sorely need in these most evil days.
THE KNIGHT ERRANT.
Spirits of old that bore me.
And set me, meek of mind,
Between great dreams before me.
And deeds as great behind,
Knowing humanity my star.
As forth abroad I ride,
Shall help me wear with every scar
Honour at eventide.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Forethought and recollection
Rivet mine armour gay !
The passion for perfection
Redeem my failing way !
Oh, give my youth, my faith, my sword.
Choice of the heart's desire ;
A short life in the saddle. Lord!
Not long life by the fire.
I fear no breathing bowman,
But only, east and west,
The awful other foeman
Impowered in my breast;
The outer fray in the sun shall be,
The inner beneath the moon ;
And may our Lady lend to me
Sight of the Dragon soon!
I9IS-] INCIPIT VITA NOVA 37
Here is a note which should find an echo in our hearts. If
Catholics share in the profound sorrow, they have no part in the
profound disquiet of a troubled world. Injustice has been done,
and the v^rong may never be righted. History is one long record
of ttnrighted wrongs. But God lives, and the soul of man is free.
Louvain's University lies in ashes, but learning does not perish with
books. The glory of Rheims has crumbled into ruins under the
resistless German guns; but the spirit of faith has been born anew
in the heart of suffering France. Agitated writers are sighing and
moaning in popular magazines that the Church of Christ has proved
no bulwark from the storm. So were the disciples scandalized when
their Master was led away, bound and captive, to be crucified.
What did they know, what do we know of things not to be measured
by human standards, nor weighed by earthly scales? Day after
day the best and bravest fight for their stricken homes, and die on
their blood-soaked land. In God's justice shall they wear
Honour at eventide.
INCIPIT VITA NOVA.
BY ARMEL o'CONNOR.
I WAITED for the world's last breath; but hear
The voice of Life upon the battlefield.
See what a growth its sudden valors yield,
Unchoked by lank and parasitic fear!
Drouth rules not now ; for fountains are unsealed
That flood and fertilize. There is new cheer
Come quick to rouse dead nations, and a clear
Vision of pow'r raised manhood soon may wield.
A thousand meadows, drenched with blood, are strewn
With heroes risen surely in the strife.
Who have baptized us, made us young again.
Lord God of war, we thank Thee for this boon
Of unexpected, vivid, cleaner life;
I.eaming our resurrection from our pain.
A
MIRACLES— FIFTY TEARS AGO AKD HOW.
BY SIR BERTRAM C. A. WINDLE, M.D., SC.D., LL.D., F.R.S., K.S.G.,
President of University College, Cork.
MONGST the remarkable instances of a return to
doctrines always held by the Catholic Church by
those who for long ages derided her teaching, and
who still deny her authority, there is perhaps none
more curious and significant than that connected with
the subject of miracles. A consideration of this matter brings us
once more face to face with the oft-asserted and indeed indisputable
fact, that whilst there is a stream setting towards the great ocean
of the unchanging Church, there is another stream which, though
still nominally Christian, sets backward towards that other great
and ancient ocean of unbelief. For a time the constituents of the
two streams may tarry together on the watershed, but sooner or
later to one side or the other each must take its course, and merge in
one or other of the two oceans. All which statements the occur-
rences of the past fifty years exemplify.
Fifty years ago the writer was a small boy living in a deeply
religious household — Puritanical even in its observances — and was
familiar with many another of a similar character. In every one of
these it would have been considered blasphemous to cast the slightest
discredit or doubt upon any miracle recounted in the Bible, and
the height of folly to place the slightest credence in any mirade
which was not " between the two covers," or had happened later
than the events recounted in the Acts of tHe Apostles. In fact it
was an axiom that no miracles had occurred since the Apostolic
times ; and such a thing as a mirade at the present day was looked
upon as utterly unthinkable. Of course, it was well known that the
oldest and largest body of Christians claimed that God's hand was
not stayed; believed that miracles did occur from time to time;
and actually dared to attribute many of them to the intercession
of the Mother of God and others of the Saints in heaven. But
at the time of which I am speaking, regretfully be it admitted, to
these same people it was also an axiom that the corrupt Church of
Rome was composed of a large number of knaves constantly engaged
in the deception of a very much larger number of thoughtless and
191 5] MIRACLES 39
foolish persons, who idly permitted themselves to be tricked into
believing^ all kinds of nonsense on evidence which could scarce
deceive a child. Without raking amidst the literature of that day
for corroborative evidence, I can call to witness many a man and
woman living to-day who, like the present writer, has seen and
heard these things. Even to-day there are many who hold that
miracles do not occur. A recent work written by Anglicans, and
dealing^ with subjects akin to those with which we are now con-
cerned, asks the question : " Has the age of miracles long ceased ? "
and continues : " It has long been assumed by religious minds, as
a kind of axiomatic truth, that this is so."^
This statement may safely be taken to indicate the present
state of opinion outside the Church on this point. As to the bad
faith of the Catholic clergy, who promulgate or at any rate do not
deny the post-Apostolic miracles, there has been a great change of
opinion. Fifty years ago it would have been easy to find thousands
of educated persons convinced that our Church and its ministers
were cold-blooded deceivers and liars in the matter of miracles,
and other matters; now it would be difficult to discover any, save
amongst the ignorant, who would openly profess, or even inwardly
hold, such opinions. . In proof let us consider one or two expres-
sions of opinion almost inconceivable fifty years ago, but which
excite no criticism but rather general approval to-day. There is
a very pleasant book, The Corner of Harley Street,^ known to be
written by a well-known medical man, though published under a
nom de plume. The author is not a Catholic, yet he describes
a visit to Lourdes in a most sympathetic manner, and treats the
ceremonies there with a respect, indeed a reverence, which could
hardly be exceeded by a Catholic. He saw no miracle, and is even
of opinion that what happens at Lourdes can be explained " upon
the observed and established lines of mental suggestion." Yet he
never expresses, nor, it is clear, feels the slightest doubt as to the
complete honesty of those who entertain beliefs opposed to his own.
" The two doctors," he says, alluding, of course, to Dr. Boissarie
and Dr. Cox, " both ardent and devout Roman Catholics, entirely
*Meditine and the Church, Being a Series of Studies on the Relationship between
the Practice of Medicine and the Church's Ministry to the Sick, London : Kegan
Paul, 191 o. ""nie Church" in this connection is, of course, that known as the
Church of England, and it would appear that there are no " religious minds " outside
its boundaries and those of other Protestant denominations. Colonel Turton, in his
excellent Truth of Christianity, eighth edition, 191 a, also assumes the non-existence
of pott-Apostolic miradet. See p. 465 et seq,
'London: Constable & Co., 191 1.
40 Miracles [April,
disagreed with me, and assured me that, after twenty years at the
shrine, they were only the more convinced of our Lady's blessed
and material favors. And perhaps, after all, it is merely a question
of terminology." We are a long way off from the blatant accusa-
tions of fifty years ago, and from " base fellows of the lewder sort "
of to-day in such kindly and tolerant words as these, and the others
devoted to Lourdes in the book in question. But an even more
important testimony is that of the late disinguished surgeon, Henry
Butlin, once President of the Royal College of Surgeons of England,
a man whose name is known all over the civilized world, and also
not a Catholic. Writing in the British Medical Journal,^ he says :
I defy anyone to read Zola's story of the cure of Marie le
Guersaint, written by a skeptic, without being moved by it,
and without feeling convinced that all true Catholics who were
present, priests and people, with the unhappy exception of the
Abbe Pierre Froment, truly believed that Almighty God had
been moved by the intercession of Our Lady of the Immaculate
Conception to display His divine power by instantaneously
restoring the health of the poor girl who had Iain paralyzed
upon a couch for seven years. In the eyes of all who witnessed
it, it was a miracle, for every medical man who had seen her
had, with one exception, believed her to be suffering from a
damaged spinal cord. There is, therefore, no excuse, in such
a case as this or in ninety-nine out of every hundred cases which
are cured by faith, to impute dishonesty and deliberate decep-
tion to the priests and the people who proclaim such cures to
be the work of God. From the little I have seen of the priests
actively engaged in the Grotto of Lourdes, I can feel no doubt
that the most of them honestly believe that the cures which
they have seen are genuine. I would no more think of accusing
them of deliberate deception than I would accuse my own
relative of it.
We do not deny that there still exist persons who impugn the
good faith of our clergy. What we do assert is that such no longer
are to be found amongst really educated and informed classes. But
can we go a stage further and state that educated and enlightened
persons outside the Catholic Church are to-day willing to admit that
miracles have occurred since the time of the Apostles, nay do
occur in our own times? It is obvious that this is a much more
difficult position for a non-Catholic to occupy. Since few miracles
occur outside the Catholic Church, to assert that miracles do occur,
'June i8, 1910.
1915-1 MIRACLES 41
and occur within that fold and yet to remain outside it would
certainly savor of inconsistency.* Yet the position is maintained
and not so uncommonly as some may suppose. " Who shall at-
tcn^it," says a recent writer,* " to lay down the laws which govern
die operation of the spiritual on the material, and still more to delimit
the Personality and Will of Him in Whose name Apostles, Saints
of tbe Church, and humble Christians tmrecorded in history have
wrought cures, which only a purblind skepticism can gainsay?"
To this recognition from the bosom of the Anglican body of the
existence of post-Apostolic miracles, may be added a far more
remarkable statement from a book at once learned, outspoken and
delightfully written. The author is the son of an Anglican bishop,
and occupies a position of some importance within his own religious
body.* " We believe," he says, " that it was Jesus Christ Who gave
St. Francis the stigmata, because we are Christians. If we were
not Christians, we might equally well attribute it to Allah, or to
Zeus, or to any conceivable agency — beneficent, malevolent or merely
neutral — which may exist in the unknown world that lies behind
and beyond material phenomena." Now it will be generally ad-
mitted that fifty years ago, if there was one miracle more than
another received with contempt and derision, outside the ranks
of the faithful, that miracle was the one alluded to above. Yet
to-day the reality of St. Francis' stigmata cannot be disputed by any
person desirous of maintaining a character for sanity, so fully
has the fact been established by historic research. Of course it is
explained away as non-miraculous by those who think that the
" blessed word " suggestion accounts for everything, but of that
more anon.
Here, at any rate, we have a clergyman of the Church of
Ex^^land, associated with the most important seat of learning per-
haps in the world, who is not merely convinced that St. Francis
had the stigmata, wherein he agrees with all scholars, but also
that they were directly imparted by our Lord Himself, wherein he
agrees with the teaching of the Catholic Church. This is a re-
maiicable instance of progress. To simi up: We find that public
opinion no longer claims that a priest who expresses his belief in
a post-Apostolic miracle is bent on deception, nor that all lay
*Of course the claim is that the "Branch Theory/' which cannot here be
^Uscussed, permits of this extraordinary attitude.
* Canon Yorke Fausset in Medicine and the Church, p. 202.
*Some Loose Stones, by R. A. Knox, Fellow and Chaplain of Trinity College,
Oxford. New York: Longmans, Green & Co., 19 14- See p. 183.
42 MIRACLES [April,
Catholics who pay attention to such statements are deluded fools.
That is so much gained. Over and above this the world is now
agreed that very remarkable phenomena have been taking place at
Lourdes these past fifty years. Some explanation, it is clear, must
be sought for these phenomena, the existence of which cannot be
denied, nor explained away, as the result of conscious and ingenious
fraud. The Church admits that some of these events are, or may
be, strictly miraculous. Some outside her fold agree with that
conclusion, while others think that the occurrences can be explained
on natural lines, and that there is nothing miraculous about them.
Before considering this matter more closely, we will turn our
attention briefly to certain other attitudes which have been adopted
and may still be held by some.
First of all is the " flat-footed " assertion that miracles do not
and cannot occur. It is difficult to see how anyone claiming to
possess a philosophical mind could utter such an opinion. Yet
Zola, the historian of Lourdes, as perhaps he would have called
himself, is an example of this class of mind. In his book Lourdes
there is a character named La Grivotte, who is obviously, I believe
admittedly, a real person, whose name is, or was, Marie Lebranchu.
La Grivotte suffers from pulmonary tuberculosis, miraculously re-
covers at Lourdes; yet afterwards relapses and dies. The real
Marie Lebranchu, who was diagnosed as suffering from a very
severe condition of the above-n^med disease (there is no doubt, I
believe, as to accuracy of the diagnosis), was actually cured at
Lourdes, and is, or was last year, still alive, having since her cure
married and become a widow. " When Dr. Boissarie called on
him (Zola) one day in Paris, and asked him why he had made the
story conclude in a way that was opposed to the actual facts, the
famous novelist answered in a tone of annojrance, 'I suppose I
am master of the persons in my own books, and can let them live
or die as I choose? And, besides,' he added, 'I don't believe in
miracles. Even if all the sick in Lourdes were cured in one moment
I would not believe in them !' "^
A view so stupid is hardly likely to have been put forward
by men of the calibre of Hume and Huxley, though their attitude,
difficult in their day, when but little attention had been paid to these
^Lourdes. By J. Jorgensen. New York: Longmans, Grreen & Co. 1914. See
p. 179. No wonder that the late Monsignor Benson speaks of Zola's work as a
"dishonest book." The dishonesty is made the more evident when we learn that
Zola took the trouble to hunt up Marie Lebranchu, while writing his book, and found
her to be alive and well, as she remained for years after the novelist's dreadful death.
<5'
si'
191SI MIRACLES 43
matters, is much less tenable to-day after fifty years study of the
supematttraL Their thesis is that, whilst it is incorrect to say
that such a thing as a miracle is impossible, there is no evidence
of anjrthing miraculous, in the strict sense of the word, ever having
occurred, nor is it in any way likely that sufficient evidence for any
miracle will ever be forthcoming. This is as much as to say : " I
am so certain that there are no such things as miracles, that I cannot
conceive of such evidence being brought before me as would con-
vince me that I am wrong." Huxley' discusses what amount of
evidence would induce him to believe that a live centaur had recently
been seen. If Johannes Muller, whom he describes as " the greatest
anatomist and physiologist among my contemporaries,"* were to
assert that he had seen a centaur, Huxley admits he would have felt
staggered and would have suspended judgment. Nothing less,
however, than a careful monograph from a noted anatomist, with
full description and plates, would suffice to make him believe in a
centaur. Mutaio nomine the Catholic would and will thoroughly
agree with Huxley, however much it might have surprised that
eminent man to hear it, with regard to miracles. No Catholic
would for a moment deny that the most rigid and irrefragable proof
is required by the Church before any event is finally and definitely
declared to be miraculous. Hume declared on this point that
" there is not to be found in all history any miracle attested by a
sufficient ntmiber of men, of such unquestioned goodness, education
and learning as to secure us against all delusion in themselves;
of such undoubted integrity as to place them beyond all suspicion of
any design to deceive others ; of such credit and reputation in the
eyes of mankind as to have a great deal to lose in case of their
being detected in any falsehood; and at the same time attesting
facts, performed in a public manner, and in so celebrated a part of
the world, as to render the detection unavoidable: all which cir-
cumstances are requisite to give us a full assurance of the testimony
of men." Now we may freely admit that with regard to a number
of the " miracles " related especially by the earlier and less respons-
ible hagiologists, miracles on which the Church has never set her
seal, there is no real proof forthcoming, nor is any in the least
likdy to be produced. But much evidence of occturences claimed
to be miraculous has been forthcoming, and has been carefully sifted
•In hb work on Hume, Great Writers Series. New York: The Macmillan Co.,
1881.
*Who, by the way, was a Catholic. See his life published in Twelve Catholic
Mien of Science, by the Catholic Truth Society.
44 MIRACLES [April.
since the time of Huxley, not to say that of Hume. The result
of all this has been to cause the skeptic to shift his ground and,
instead of denying, as Htmie would have done, the occurrence of
the events, to state that they occur but are not miraculous. In
this, as in other matters, we have to come back to human testimony.
The solipsist denies any importance to anything not appreciated
by his own sense, and thus commits intellectual suicide. The world
at large judges otherwise, and it would be difficult to find more
water-tight evidence than is available in connection with certain
occurrences claimed to be modem miracles, explain them how we
may. It is not too much to say that evidence equally strong,
but in another direction, would certainly send the most respected
of the Archbishops of Canterbury to the gallows for murder.
If miracles occur, they must be explained. Our explanation is
well-known : some of them are miracles, some of them are, at least,
very special graces. The other explanation is that they are the
result of "suggestion." Suggestion no doubt may and perhaps
does account for many occurrences which, in a less critical age,
might have been claimed as miraculous, but which would not be so
tliought to-day by educated persons. Of course it may be said that
the still more critical to-morrow may dispose of things which to-day
we suppose to be miraculous. To which it may be replied that such
an upheaval as that would require of all our medical ideas, even
the most fundamental, is absolutely unthinkable, as will appear later.
Whilst admitting all that may be said as to the efficacy of " sug-
gestion " in a considerable number of cases, it is at least permissible
to ask why only, or almost only, at Lourdes and such like places
is this beneficent form of suggestion available? Mr. Belloc^® asks:
" If what happens at Lourdes is the result of self-suggestion, why
cannot men, though exceptionally, yet in similar great numbers,
suggest themselves into health in Pimlico or the Isle of Man? It
is no answer to say that here and there such marvels are to be found.
The point is that men go to Lourdes in every frame of mind, and
are in an astonishing number cured." Of course, we may be met
with the argument that the religious form of suggestion is the
strongest known, but the materialist who ventures on that argument
is on very dangerous ground for himself, as a very little considera-
tion will show.
But over and above all this the solid fact remains that there
are certain cases cured, or reported to be cured at Lourdes and
"In his preface to Jorgensen's Lourdes, p. xii.
I9I5-1 MIRACLES 45
elsewhere, into which it is quite impossible to suppose that the
element of suggestion can enter, and of which it may be said that if,
per impossibUe, it were to be proved that it did enter, the whole
edifice of medical and surgical science would have to be recon-
structed. Such are cases of broken and ununited bones, cancers,
large destructions of tissue by lupus, and other such conditions not
of a nervous origin, or to any extent capable of being influenced
by the nervous system.^^ Every medical man knows the protean
character of the manifestations of hysteria, and can make a guess at
least as to the vagaries of which its victims are capable. But no
medical man will argue that suggestion will instantaneously cure a
broken limb even in an hysterical person.
Further, with such a condition, or with cancer, or any other
grave organic disease, nature seems to be too sufficiently occupied
to couple with it an hysterical condition. Lastly, hysteria, though
not wholly unknown, is rare in men, amongst whom a great number
of the cures at Lourdes take place. In fact the cases of the most
remarkable character are just those in which the hysterical element
is least, if at all, in evidence. Take, for example, the case of
Gargam,** seriously injured, almost unto death, by a railway acci-
dent His spine was dislocated, as the Rontgen rays proved; he
was paralyzed, and his limbs in places gangrenous. He was de-
dared by many doctors to be incurable, and on that account was
awarded a life annuity by the law courts. He had abandoned
his religion, but, to please his mother, and apparently without any
expectation of a cure, he went to Lourdes, and was instantaneously
cured of all his ailments. Or take the case of Marie Lemarchand,**
who was cured, also instantaneously, of a most severe form of
lupus which had converted her countenance into a thing of repulsive
monstrosity. Sixteen years after the cure, which is the last account
of her, she had suffered from no recurrence of the disease. These
are but samples of the more serious cases which have been cured
at Lourdes, and the difficulty of explaining them on the " sugges-
tion " hypothesis is intensified by their ntunber.
The last-named case was admittedly the original of Zola's
Elise Roquet, of whom the novelist asserted that she suffered from
"an unknown formation of ulcers of hysterical origin." Now
"For a fall discossioii of this and many other matters treated in this paper,
the reader may be referred to an excellent littie book by Father Joyce, S.J., entitled
Thf Question of Miracles, and published by the Manresa Press, London, in 19 14.
"See Jdrgensen's Lourdes, p. i6x.
-/«rf., p. 175.
46 MIRACLES [April,
apart from the two, no doubt trivial, facts that lupus is as well-
known a form of disease as any that ever comes before a medical
man, and that it has nothing whatever to do with hysteria, so far as
anyone knows or has ever to my knowledge suggested, the line of
argument pursued in this matter by Zola, when placed in the form
of a syllogism, would not deceive a babe in logic. His major prem-
ise is that there are no ailments cured at Lourdes which are not
hysterical in their character. But Marie Lemarchand was cured
there of lupus. Therefore the disease of which she was cured was
hysterical in its origin, and as lupus is not that, we will call the
condition one of ulceration (which it was) and of unknown origin
(which, by the way, it was not).
Finally, let us glance at the very remarkable case of Pierre de
Rudder, cured not at Lourdes, but at Oostacker in Belgium.** His
leg had been broken by the fall of a tree, and the fragments of
bone remained ununited, in spite of surgical efforts, for eight
years. His condition was known to all his neighbors and to medical
men in the district around. Yet he was instantaneously cured after
praying at the shrine.**^ There can be no kind of doubt that the
limb w^as broken, and the fragments unimited prior to the cure : that
rests on evidence which cannot be gainsaid. Nor can there be any
doubt that the bones did reunite for they are to be seen to-day,**
and bear unmistakable evidence of having been fractured and
reunited. For the instantaneous character of the cure there also
appears to be abundant evidence. Suppose that the cure had, after
eight years of suffering, occurred very slowly and without surgical
aid. That would be almost incredible to any medical man. But
that it should have been instantaneous takes it out of the category
of natural possibilities, unless, as I have said, the whole foundation
of our medical knowledge is inaccurate.
Too much stress in this and other cases can hardly be laid
upon the instantaneous nature of the cures. Nature does sometimes
^^As this place and the village where de Rudder lived have been in the centre
of the hottest fighting for some months, it is to be feared that no trace of the shrine
or of either village now exists.
^Numerous accounts of this remarkable cure have been published. The best
known to me is A Modern Miracle, from the French of Alfred Deschamps, S.J., M.D.,
ScD., published by the Catholic Truth Society of Scotland in 1906, in which a veiy
full account, with illustrations of de Rudder and the bones of his legs which were
removed after his death, is given. Another account in a book, entitled Heaven's
Recent Wonders, is vitiated by the fact that the cut of the sound leg is described
in the text as that of the injured and healed member.
"If they have escaped the peril of war. At any rate they were removed and
placed in a museum after de Rudder's death.
I9I5-1 MIRACLES 47
cure patients suffering from tuberculous and other usually incurable
diseases, but never long ununited fractures, nor, I think, it may be
said, true cancers or various other things of a severe and chronic
diaracter. The cure, however, is slow, never, I think it may be
fearlessly asserted, instantaneous, as is so often the case at Lourdes
and elsewhere.
What we have to ask ourselves in face of any alleged miracle
which comes under our notice, is what the authorities of the Church
have to ask themselves when called upon to pronounce judicially
in such cases : Did things happen as they are said to have happened ?
Can the thing which happened be explained upon natural lines?
Both of these things are matters of evidence, and the proofs which
win convince one man will perhaps not suffice for another. No one,
however, who is not totally deaf and blind to all evidence, can deny
diat the evidence in quite a number of cases is uncommonly hard
to get over. In fact it is only to be got over by the subterfuge
of assuming that there are no miracles, since what seem to be such
are occurrences under laws of which we are still in ignorance.
But see what comes of this. In a non-critical age it was still
possible to sneer at post-Apostolic or " Church " miracles, and to
retain an undiluted belief in those narrated in the Bible. But that
cannot be done nowadays, so we find the Biblical miracles naturally
explained, or explained in accordance with Dr. Sanday's statement,^^
that a " miracle is not really a breach of the order of nature ; it is
only an apparent breach of laws that we know, in obedience to other
and higher laws that we do not know." In a sense this statement
is quite correct, and its author may be perfectly orthodox in his
meaning, but no one doubts that, in the minds of many, such an
explanation is equivalent to a statement that miracles act according
to or under natural laws. After all the essential element in the
notion of miracle is exception to, or derogation from, the laws of
nature. Whether this be effected by God's ordinary concurrence
orco^)eration with secondary causes or by His introduction of some
new higher agency. His action must be really an interference with
the general order of nature. But nothing is gained by ascribing
this event to a " law." Indeed it is precisely in this fact of individ-
ual intervention that the supernatural revelation of God is mani-
fested, and just in this lies the probative force of the Gospel miracles
to which Christ so frequently appealed.*®
*'Life of Christ, viii., teste Medicine and the Church, p. aoa.
"£.y.. Matt. xi. 5; John v. 36.
48 MIRACLES [A|
Moreover, when it has once been admitted that the f rce-
of man can intervene and alter the current of physical causatioii
his own organism and immediate environment, it is not easy to
why any theist should find insuperable difficulties in believing- tl
a Personal God may, in analogous manner, intervene and modi
the general order of nature.
But it is maintained by some that we can and ought to expla
away the Biblical miracles as we have done the '* Church *' miracle
But what comes of this? First, that there was no Virgin Birti
though it is difficult to see how any other theory tallies with th
age-long belief that .our Lady was the flower of all Virginity an
of all Womanhood, or is compatible with the view, which surely i
not too high an estimate, that she was an ordinarily good anc
modest woman. Second, that the miracles of our Lord were workec
on perfectly natural lines, that He knew this, yet appealed to them
as proofs of His Mission. In spite of this deceit. He is to be
looked upon as at least the best of men, and a model for us alL
Again, either the Resurrection never took place at all, or a very
different interpretation must be put upon it than that taught by
the Church through the centuries. Yet the Church in her corporate
capacity was there to see it, and the evidence of eyewitnesses in its
favor is at least as strong as that brought forward in verification
of any other historical event. And so on, and so on.
In all of this we trace the corrosive effect of the general revolt
from authority which Protestantism represents. It eats away first
one thing, then another, until nothing is left but a few useless and
apparently unrelated fragments. This is what is meant by the two
cturents, the one setting towards unbelief as surely as the other
is setting toward^ the Church. Which is the nobler, the better,
the more reliable current to follow each man must decide for
himself.
THE SPIRIT INDEED IS WILLING, BUT THE FLESH
IS WEAK.
(Mark xiv. 38.)
BY EMILY HICKEY.
O TfiREE He calls to watch with Him close by the reddening sod
Where drops the sweat of agony, the agony of God.
O three of watch in sleep forgone, your flesh too weak will prove;
And angelhood shall comfort Him, and not your hiunan love.
And more, yet more; the hour draws nigh, the traitor's This is He.
The kiss, the clash of swords and staves, and ye to turn and flee.
And one of you with curse and oath will e'en deny the Friend
Who, loving in the world His own, had loved them to the end.
And one alone, to-morrow noon shall dare the shame and dread,
To stand beneath the cross till all shall be consummated.
Yet all you three in supreme love and supreme courage high
Shall will to suffer and work for Him, shall dare for Him to die.
Lord Jesus, Who hast bid Thy friends anear Thee watch to keep.
If earthly heaviness weigh down our eyelids and we sleep,
Speak Thou to us, as once to those Thy gentleness did speak,
The spirit truly wills aright, although the flesh be weak.
Oh, be the spirit willing then, to strive in might afresh.
And let the spirit's might o'ercome the weakness of the flesh.
Bid us to cast the dread away, to fling the shame aside,
And follow on where these have led, for Thee Who lived and died.
VOL. a. — 4
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.
BY WALTER ELUOTT, C.S.P.
HE CATHOLIC WORLD! The very name of oixr
magazine marks an era in my life, for its mention
gave me my first knowledge of Father Hecker. One
day in 1865 I ^^^ ^ friend of mine in the streets of
Detroit, a young law student— destined to hold a.
prominent place in the Detroit bar— named C. J. O'Flynn. He was
but recently graduated from Georgetown College, a bright, culti-
vated mind, and an ardent Catholic. Instead of simply returning-
my passing greeting, he stopped me and said : " Have you read
The Catholic World?"
" The Catholic World," I answered, " I never heard of it."
He said : " It is a Catholic magazine just started in New York;
it is full of good reading."
"And whose magazine is it? Who is the editor?"
" Father Isaac T. Hecker."
" And who, pray, is Father Hecker ? "
O'Flynn's answer sank deep into my soul with a mysterious
penetration : ** Father Hecker is a man who says that we can
convert America."
I felt at that instant a powerful and quite peculiar charm in the
words : " convert America," as well as a resistless drawing towards
Father Hecker ; the very first stirrings of my vocation. The occur-
rence — to me it was a holy event — is ever since placed high in my
memory, beaming with divine light, the figure and voice of my
zealous friend, his gentle insistence, the curious novelty of my
feelings, even the street corners and the sidewalk and curbstones.
This happened fifty years ago. O'Flynn has gone to his reward
after a life of singular virtue. His kindly zeal was God's first
touch leading me and choosing me to be one of the disciples of
Father Hecker, then known as the founder of the Paulist Com-
munity, and the originator and editor of The Catholic World.
After a while Father Hecker lectured in Detroit and I visited
him ; and amid the fascination of his personality and his conversa-
tion, I could perceive that his mind was preoccupied with The
Catholic World, which he reckoned high among the instrumcn-
I9IS-1 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 51
talides of the apostolate of the press. The establishment of a first-
dass Catholic periodical that wotild ably present Catholic teaching,
and win non-Catholics by such able presentation, had been in
Father Hecker's mind for a long time. Delay was. unavoidable,
however, being incident to the beginnings of the commimity he
founded, the opening of the house and church in New York, and
lack of funds. These hindrances were aggravated by the Civil
War, whose first mutterings cast a heavy gloom upon the country
immediately after the Paulists were organized, and which raged
furiously from 1861 till 1865. The very month of Lee's surrender
saw the first issue of the magazine, April, 1865.
Always eager for opporttmities to spread the Catholic faith,
Father Hecker had aheady written two volumes and some shorter
pieces, mainly directed to the unchurched non-Catholics of his time
and country. These were designed to aid " liberal " Christians and
agnostics to follow the road he himself had trod — from the rejection
of both Protestantism and natural philosophy as utterly insufficient,
to an acceptance of the Catholic Church as the revealed and all-
satisfying Truth of Jesus Christ. Not that he disregarded any
dass of minds groping for the truth, for first and last under his
direction books and pamphlets and tracts and sermons of every kind,
were printed, circulated, sold, given away, mostly by means of the
Catholic Publication Society which he established.
" The most important and successful enterprise " — we are quot-
ing Father Hewit's tribute to him immediately after his death —
" which Father Hecker undertook in this direction, was the founding
and conduct of The Catholic World." And Father Hewit, who
succeeded Father Hecker as editor-in-chief, adds the deep-hearted
wish, since then abundantly fulfilled : " Those who have control of
The Catholic World at present desire and hope that it may
continue and perpetuate the work which Father Hecker began."
This magazine marked the first entrance of Catholics into the
American magazine arena since the earlier quarter of the nine-
teenth century. It immediately arrested the attention of the general
pubUc, even whilst largely filled with articles selected — many of
them translated — from European periodicals. Of the "small
battalion " of original writers. Father Hewit was the most learned
and powerful, one of the very few Catholics of that day in our
country who could compose a review article of parallel force and
erudition with those of The North American and the great English
reviews. Soon he was reenforced by Dr. Brownson, whose own
52 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES [April
review had, for an intenal, ceased to exist. These two may be
called the principal contributors in matters of dogma, philosophy
and controversy. Of the two great men we shall presently have
something more to say. Meantime Father Hecker constantly sought
for new contributors, and was soon richly rewarded. No prospector
for gold diggings was so glad of a rich " find " as was Father
Hecker when he could induce a Catholic priest or layman of literary
parts to write him an article. He would go over the scheme of it
with him, suggest his line of preparatory reading, inspire him with
the right spirit, embolden him or moderate him according to need.
He it was who thus painfully and happily recruited the "early
battalion" of which Father Hewit speaks, trained it carefully,
often setting its members forth upon a career of literary distinction.
Those who knew the inner reasons for the magazine's success,
will recall with gratitude the memory of Mr. Lawrence Kehoe.
Father Hecker fotmd him struggling with the difficulties of Catholic
publication, saw his ability, industry, good taste; he then gave him
The Catholic World to publish. The wisdom of Father Hecker's
choice was proved by the experience of after years. Mr. Robert Rea
was the proofreader of the magazine at its start, and so remained
till near the end of the century, having been converted to the Catholic
Faith by the literally conscientious exercise of his vocation. He was
exceptionally competent for his responsible position. Both of these
noble characters were very dear to Father Hecker; and indeed all
who worked with him in any department of The Catholic World
he seemed to love with special fervor.
The success of the magazine rejoiced all the educated Catholic
public, and made its name inseparable from that of its originator
and the Paulist Community. When Mr. James Parton in 1868,
being at the time in the flush of his literary fame, wrote of Father
Hecker in The Atlantic Monthly (the April and May numbers. Our
Ronton Catholic Brethren) he introduced him as " the Superior of
the Community of Paulists, editor of The Catholic World,
and director of the Catholic Publication Society." He was amazed
at Father Hecker's jubilant zeal for the extension of the Catholic
religion, and especially admired his practical ability in initiating and
planning and carrying out measures for a Catholic apostolate of the
press.
As Superior of the Paulist Community, Father Hecker was
chief of the magazine's editorial staff; for the Paulist house, Fifty-
ninth Street, was not only a convent of religious men but an
I9IS] PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 53
editorial sanctum — Father Hewit, Deshon, and Young being con-
sulted as a usual custom in all important matters, their opinions
sought and heeded Father Hewit in particular was the editorial
alter ego. It was not only that he was sympathetic — ^he was self-
identified with all the aims, quite saturated with the spirit, which had
inspired Father Hecker in his apostolate of the press. Meantime
Father Hewit was not only a man of learning, but of technical
learning in all divinity. Book, chapter, verse of the Bible in all its
parts were his own for ready reference in a most retentive and
accurate memory. Everyone of the Fathers of the Church, St.
Thomas and the leading scholastics, the divines of the Reformation
era — we are speaking from many years of dose companionship
with Father Hewit — ^were at his command with the facility of a
specialist He was a constant student of all divinity from love, and
a professor of long experience. His earlier life, outside the Church,
gave him full command of the writings of Protestant authors,
whether Calvinistic or Anglican. He was the trusted censor of
Father Hecker, who told me more than once that he never had
published anything without Father Hewit's express censorship and
approval. And the latter's own articles gave the air of solidity
of Catholic truth and plain evidence of learned research to the
magazine in all that touched doctrine and controversy, and also on
history and philosophy. He was pleasant reading, besides, having
a flowing, graceful style, abounding in all chaste rhetorical adorn-
ment He was an instance of erudition capable of making itself
understood by the average intelligence. And Father Hewit pos-
sessed this other great advantage : he could write on grave topics
at short notice, his manuscript needing little if any revision.
Fathers Deshon and Young were both of much use, as advisers
as well as contributors, especially in articles of a devotional nature,
though they wrote strongly on controversial subjects, and that more
frequently than was generally known, because during nearly the
whole of the first decade of The Catholic World all magazine
articles were unsigned.
Meantime Father Hecker was incessantly engaged in develop-
ing, in some cases, almost creating, literary talent in the interests of
his magazine. Brownson — literary force was perfect in that
master of virile English, that powerful advocate of truth. There-
fore, except on some delicate questions of philosophy then hotly
debated among learned Catholics in an atmosphere of scholastic
militancy, Brownson was a doubly welcome contributor. Many of
54 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES [Apr
his best pieces appeared originally in this magazine, treating- c
education, doctrine, and the lessons of history. Perhaps the earlici
refutations of Darwinism, pointing out its injurious influence upa
religious truth, were written by Brownson and printed in Thi
Cathouc World. He lived in Elizabeth, New Jersey, those years
and once every month the old veteran, gray and stalwart, assertive
and ponderous, came over to the Paulist convent and spent a day anc
night with us. Father Deshon was his Father Confessor, and ir
the later hours of the evening the doctor (after having spent hours
and hours with the Fathers in amazing disputes about the more
unknowable things of God), would creep into our novice-master's
room (Father Deshon held that office over us) and make his
hiunble confession. Next morning the noble-hearted, great-minded
champion of Holy Church would kned among us novices and
receive Holy Communion with us, as if glad to be one of us.
Another welcome contributor was our foremost historiographer
of the Church in America, John Gilmary Shea, whose contributions,
all of enduring worth, appeared from time to time. John R. G.
Hassard, a distinguished convert, biographer of Archbishop Hughes,
not only gave articles of vivid interest, but was of such wide expe-
rience and perfect literary taste — ^he was for many years on the
editorial staff of the New York Tribune — ^that Father Hecker for
some years engaged his services as assistant editor. Every convert
of any literary antecedents was solicited for contributions, and some,
like the late Father Hoyt and Mr. W. C. Robinson, were tided
over their early financial difficulties by receiving salaried positions on
the staff of the magazine. And not a few writers of distinction in
after years found their noviceship under Father Hecker's kindly
and patient and enlightened guidance.
Father Hecker kept au fait with all the religious drifts and
currents in the non-Catholic world, but especially the fluctuations of
thought among infidels, rationalists, and such semi-Christians as
Unitarians and Uni^^ersalists. With many of their leaders in
America he was personally acquainted. With the enemies of the
revelation of Christ, and of His Church, he was always " spoiling
for a fight;" and though he put on the gloves of controversial good
manners, he never failed — generally through articles written by
others, but under his special inspiration — to administer a knock-
down blow.
How well do I remember the community recreations of those
days, whose delightful conversations were often occupied with
I9I5-1 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES 55
devotional topics and the outlook for conversions almost in equal
proportions. Christian and religious perfection, th^ devotional
and ascetical life was the theme to which the light and easy talk of
the five priests, who then were the grand totality of the Paulist
Community, constantly turned. And then, just as constantly, we
listened to an exchange of views about articles in The Catholic
World, already published, projected or possible, covering the whole
field of human dignity and destiny, ever having a close connection
with the making of converts.
A note of sadness would now and then be heard in the com-
munity's recreations, for the very month which saw the first issue of
the magazine had been marked with the first great sorrow of the
Patdist Fathers. Father Francis A. Baker died on April 4, 1865.
Father Hecker had looked to him to be a valuable help in his new
venture, and he was worthy of his trust, being a facile and attractive
writer, of refined taste, with a sense of the humorous, and widely
read in letters sacred and secular. Moreover he was a most at-
tractive personality, genial, zealous, well-balanced. To Father
Hecker he was deeply attached; he was, indeed, a docile disciple.
Almost as much might be said of Father Robert Tillotson. He died
in 1868; but was an invalid for the three years that preceded his
death.
We young aspirants were given in the community "recrea-
tions " two hours daily of instruction, of edification, of train-
ing for the Paulist vocation and the priestly career; more
valuable — so I have ever been convinced — ^than the careful
class woric to which we devoted our intelligence and assiduity. Ever
and always Father Hecker was the life of these conversations.
The sanctification of the soul by methods the more interior and
searching was invariably his chosen topic, as the conversion of
America was the goal of all his outward activity.
CONDITIONS AND TENDENCIES IN RELIEF WOI
BY WILLIAM J. KERBY, PH.D.
HE agreements and differences which usually SLt:t:t
all associated efforts of man, are by no means la<rlc:f z:i|
in the field of relief. In spite of good will .^lx^c
genuine devotion as these are found in charity drcrles^
there is conflict as well as confusion among- ^J7^|
friends of the poor. The radical and conservative tendencies t:fa^t:|
divide scholars, statesmen, and churchmen into contending partri
are found equally active in the field of relief where differences 2
not diminished by exalted purpose, and men are not freed from eZie
limitations of prejudice and temperament. The tricks that our pref-
erences, talent and limitations play on us in other walks of life,
are quite evident among us when we befriend the poor. This is,
of course, the human lot from which no nobility of purpose can
release us and no available wisdom can protect us. Varied as are
the differences to be found in this field, the more important of them
can be reduced to an original fundamental difference between nar-
row and wide outlooks on problems of poverty: between a whole
and a partial view of charity.
On the one hand, there are those who are inspired by the re-
stricted vision of present duty, and are led on by the simple joy of
homely service. Such find their pleasures secure and their labors
peaceful and satisfying as they minister with particular affection to
the daily wants of men and women and children among the poor.
In these groups, we find little philosophy and much devotion, littie
publicity and much sacrifice, indifference to world views and to the
larger propaganda that would reconstruct society rather than alle-
viate its present griefs. On the other hand, we find those whose
vision is broad and whose sympathy is comprehensive. They read
widely, think well, express themselves in good literary form, and
cultivate the habit of seeing the particular case of distress in relation
to all distress and to the wider problems of dependency. Minds
think in large terms and deal with poverty in massive quantities.
We find the impulse to system and formal principles well developed.
The gentler sympathy active in the particular service of a poor
Jtl'
1915] CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 57
person is foregone in the light of the needs of his class, and his
personal wants are apt to be overlooked.
^' A large number of the temperamental differences and of the
conflicts among aims and policies discovered in the field of relief,
can be reduced in last analysis to the divergence of these two funda-
mental views. There recurs here the ages-old conflict between
system and personality, between the particular and the general,
■^ between the temperament that loves the individual and the tempera-
^ ment that loves the race. It is Charles Reade, if memory may be
trusted, who says that a misanthrope hates himianity, but is tender
-*^ to his wife and little children, while a philanthropist loves humanity
and is mean to his wife and children. He adds that he prefers to
live with the misanthrope and to read the philanthropist's books.
^- There are in the field of relief many who have large vision and
^ genuine good will, who love humanity and consecrate themselves to
' progfress, but are harsh with the timid poor. There are others who
are indifferent to humanity and not given to the discussion of
progress, but are infinitely tender and kind to the poor whom they
sedc out and serve.
An observer who stands aloof from the great field of poverty
and relief and looks in upon it as an outsider, will find interesting
the resemblances and differences among the sections into which that
great field is divided. He Hvill notice first of all that modern poverty
is massive, complex and persistent. He will discover overwhelming
social forces which throw men and women and children prostrate,
shutting out from tliem capacity for self-help and opportunity for
it, clouding ambition, dulling sensibility, and blocking every aspira-
tion which might be bom within their hearts. Our observer would
notice also that we have extensive and accurate knowledge of prac-
tically all of the facts of poverty and of the processes at work in it.
He would find a vast thoroughgoing literature on poverty and relief
splendidly worked out The highest types of modem scholarship
have not hesitated to turn their splendid energies into research work
in the interests of the poor, and they have produced results which
satisfy every demand of rigid scholarship and every approved prin-
ciple of social interpretation. In fact, poverty has become an
intellectual interest, and relief work has attained to a place of great
social prestige. Social service offers occupation to those who might
otherwise live aimless lives. It confers distinction, and satisfies
every longing for helpful activity and satisfactory outlet for eager
zeal. The newspaper, the magazine, the writer of fiction and the
58 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [April,
lecturer find it to their advantage to devote much time and ability
to poverty and the poor. This modem sympathy with poverty is
so acute and socially so 24>proved, and the impulses which it awakens
are so active, that many rush into the work with intemperate
energy, without regard to the discussion or preparation on which
wisdom waits. However, in spite of our knowledge, literature
and sympathy, most of us feel that much less is accomplished for
the poor than we would like. Two new problems appear to replace
everyone that we solve. This is the case largely because we set
before ourselves increasingly exacting standards of achievement in
the interests of the poor. We are eager to take advantage of
everything that social philosophy, medicine, religion, psychology,
economics, sociology, political science, and history offer us toward
the understanding of poverty and its prevention. But theories
and interpretations have become thereby so abundant that we stand
blind in the very excess of light. Thus, our larger ambitions and
stronger impulses hinder us from the joy of achievement by dimin-
ishing the apparent value of what we do in comparison with the
greater value of what we would do. At any rate, we recognize
thankfully the promise of great achievement in the interests of the
poor and thereby of progress, through the depth of social sympathy
that has been aroused, the awakening of social conscience that has
been accomplished, and the many-sided wisdom that is laid before
the friends of the poor to be used in the interests of these.
There are two fundamentally unlike views found in relief work.
One is traditional and spiritual, the other is modem and scientific
The traditional view of charity finds its strongest expression in
Catholic circles, wherein charity is represented as an organic part of
religious experience, as an inseparable element of one's wholesome
worship of God and spiritual love of neighbor. The act of giving
material relief is an act of religion* The principles that govern
relief-giving are formulated and estimated in their place in the
spiritual interpretation of life. The religious atmosphere is perma-
nent and determining. Set over against that view, we find the
more modern understanding that would represent charity as a
fundamental social interest, a law unto itself. The poor are looked
upon in the light of the relations of poverty to progress. Wisdom
is sought mainly through insight into social processes and direction
toward a certain social outcome, while the principles of action are
derived more from scholarship than from the Gospel. Neither
view necessarily excludes the other altogether, although those Who
ipiSl CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 59
diare each view find themselves often fundamentally at odds. The
differences between the two views are, to some extent, differences
of perqiective and relative value. The religious view of charity by
no means excludes the results of scholarly research in the field of
poverty, or the axioms of practical wisdom that are derived from
experience in dealing with it The modern sociological view does
not necessarily ignore or exclude religion in relief work. On the
contrary, it recognizes great value in religion for the individual life,
and in the moral and religious reconstruction of the dependent poor.
Nevertheless, the sympa&ies that grow out of each view are very
frequently at variance. The standards of judgment by which suc-
cess and failure are declared in relief work differ among themselves,
and they lead at times to intense temperamental differences among
those who hold them. Frequently, too, the practical policies devel-
oped in dealing with particular features of poverty are so antag-
onistic as to make cooperation and S)mipathetic understanding quite
out of the question. How far-reaching these differences may be-
come, is illustrated in attitudes taken toward the birth-rate among the
poor, or the right of a poor mother to bear a child without first
asking permission of " progress " to do so.
One by-product of this difference is worth mentioning. To the
Catholic mind religion is dogmatic, authoritative and systematic,
while charity is slow to take on the formality of system and the
rigidity of set principles to which all particular conduct must be
referred. The modem view of charity, on the contrary, makes
diarity sjrstematic, rigid, and compelling, while under its influence
religion becomes sentimental, informal, unsystematic, vague, and
quite devoid of authority. In fact where the modern view of relief
work or social service comes into conjunction with the modem esti-
mate of religion, the latter tends to become simply social service
and little else. This condition is illustrated by the remark of an
able minister at a charities meeting, where he declared that the only
business of religion is to enable men to live together and foster
progress. Catholic relief agencies work primarily among Catholics,
not so much because they prefer to do so, as because of the practical
necessities of the case, which require them to do so. Even when
our agencies of relief serve the poor of other faiths or of no faith,
as is so often the case in our institutional charities, the spiritual
standpoint of the work is never lost from sight, and the supernatural
naotivc of that service is always cherished regardless of those who
profit by it
6o CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [April,
Another aspect of the difference between these two fundamental
points of view lies in this, that the Catholic view of charity repre-
sents it as having a mission to the strong no less than to the weak.
Charity is God's fundamental law governing relations among men
who are brothers. It is the corrector of human hearts, the disci|^ine
of desire, the law of spiritual and social relationship, regardless of
income, independence or power. Relief-giving is merely one aspect
of this relationship. Charity corrects our thinking, guides our
philosophy, directs our sympathies, and restores the social equilib-
rium which our spiritual laws demand and our cultiu^ processes
destroy. The modem view of relief which is practically that of
philanthropy, looks upon charity as canying a message of assurance
and relief to the poor without particular attention to its spiritual
message to the strong. The difference is that found between the
whole view of charity and a partial view of it, between a completed
spiritual relationship and a one-sided social economic relationship.
We understand in the traditional view that strength is sanctified
by serving weakness ; that wealth and learning, power, health and
virtue find their complete sanctification in serving disease, ignorance,
bondage, sin, and poverty. Modern imagination is stirred, and
service is inspired by a sense of the mission of charity toward the
poor, and not by the larger view that includes the strong within the
zone of its inspiring influence.
The sociological point of view of poverty is now uppermost in
popular imagination. The establishment of this point of view in the
modem mind is one of the real though qualified triumphs of our
scholarship, and it has within it the promise of far-reaching wisdom.
Under this point of view, poverty is looked upon as the outcome of a
number of complex social processes. The individual dependent is
dealt with rather as a victim of social processes, than as a person.
The particular case of distress is seen in the light of its larger
relations rather than in the darkness of its own misery. The
industrial organization of society is traced out, and the process
which assembles the helpless in the competitive struggle is described,
and the victims of this process are known as the poor. We take
up the whole process of the distribution of wealth, and point out
the place where distribution fails and poverty commences. We
describe with infinite care and commendable accuracy the social
processes that govern housing conditions, that lead to the disintegra-
tion of the family and the breaking-up of social traditions, the pro-
cesses that insulate the poor from all touch with culture. W? trace
I9I5-1 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 6i
otit the breakdown of political institutions, the faults of political
administration, and the mistakes of social philosophy, all of which
count for so much in the quantity and quality of poverty. All of
this is done thoroug^y and creditably from the standpoint of
scholarship, and it throws astonishing light upon much that has
heretofore been hidden from view. And yet there are some conse-
quences of this point of view against which we are hardly well
protected.
Those who are well read in the sociological literature of poverty
tend to develop a philosophical habit of mind. They think and
judge in the terms of social processes, and lose the instinct that
enables us to single out the individual from the mass and deal with
him as a human person with feelings, aspirations and capacity for
pain and pleasure. Thus, the aims and problems of the prevention
of poverty in particular cases are set forward in imagination and
taste, while the homelier and less inviting tasks of relieving misery
and distress in particular cases drift to the background. The social
worker who reads much and thinks habitually, tends to become a
social reformer, social philosopher, or even socialist, rather than
an efficient friend and trusted helper of the poor. The liking for
large views directs s)rmpathy towards large problems and large
measures. The habit of large social interpretations asserts itself,
and the liking for the homely, unrecorded services that relief
demands is harmed. Perhaps Dickens had something of this kind in
mind in Bleak House, in setting forth the contrast between the
manners of the tender and kindly Ada and Esther, who had no world
vision but loved the poor, on the one hand, and on the other, the
impersonal and determined ways of the pompous Mrs. Pardiggle
as the three of them met by the side of the dead baby in the brick-
layer's home.
No desire is felt to cast any aspersion upon the importance of
thinking in large terms, and of large interpretations and broad views,
as these are related to social reform and to the prevention of poverty.
It does seem clear, however, that philosophers have no mission in
relief work, and that those with talent for relief work in homely
ways, will develop little taste for philosophy. The talents called for
are unlike, the sympathies awakened are distinct. Each has its place
in which it is wise and helpful. Either loses itself when out of its
particular sphere. The habit of approaching poor and helpless men
and women and children from the sociological standpoint, leads one
tp overrate th^ role of prevention and to underrate th? demands pf
62 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [April|
relief. The sociological point of view is supremely important in £
place. But those who represent it should not displace the less px*'
tentious friends of the poor who find their mission and their joy
patient and kindly works of comfort, and in the duty of feeding tlm^
hungry, washing the faces of dirty children, and dealing patiently^
with dull and unresponsive minds among the poor. Prevention. £^
much more important than relief when we speak of social progress-
Relief is much more in^rtant than prevention when we deal widm
the poor who are in need of help. Relief is a distinct, preseixt,
insistent duty. Real charity issues in relief ; philosophy and thinlc—
ing issue in prevention and reform. Relief work should be mad^
as wise, satisfying and effective as possible, but it should always
be relief. Philosophy may be left to thinkers, reform may be left:
to reformers, law may be left to statesmen. While we must appea.1
to them, aid them, advise them in the impulse to further all of
these noble purposes, the homely work of present relief for the poor
who are before us must be done with energy and thoroughness
and quiet love.
The sociological point of view tends, to some degree, to under-
rate the element of personal sin and moral req[)onsibility in dealing
with the poor. This is another consequence of dealing with social
processes rather than with persons. The charity worker who looks
upon the law of God as supreme and definite, and who tmderstands
the meaning of sin in human life, will be guided by that under-
standing in dealing with the poor and in all works of relief and
all plans of social reconstruction. In our own Catholic circles, the
law of God, as we understand it, is paramount. The poor are dealt
with under the assumption that they have souls, that they are in vary-
ing degrees morally accountable to God and to society, that they have
more or less of the faculty of self-determination which is involved
in sin. Not that the poor are looked upon necessarily as sinners,
except in the Biblical sense that all men are sinners. The sociological
point of view, in as far as it misses this understanding of sin, will be
at fault in explaining poverty and equally at fault in its positive work
among the poor. This thought will be taken up again in connection
with later references to the natural law.
We note in the newer field of relief work that the collective
prevails over the individual point of view. There are many poor.
Their conditions are so alike and their forms of misery, ignorance,
and helplessness are so nearly identical that we congregate them
into groups, and deal with groups rather than individuals. The
I9I5-1 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 63
ideal method wotild be to send the individual worker to deal with
the poor family in the individual home on the basis of permanent
friendship and kindly interest Unfortimately, there are too many
poor and too few among the well-to-do to make this possible.
Hence, we assemble the children and the mothers and the fathers
in groups, and deal with them collectively. The day nursery, the
social settlement, the mothers' club, the fresh-air home, are typical
instances of this. These methods have become necessary, and no
present wisdcwn will enable us to change them. Some will complain
that hereby we tend to lose sight of the individual home and family,
and to neglect the reconstruction of the family in its own home, an
aim which is always essential in relief work. The voices that pro-
claim the need of these collective agencies are strong and assured in
our modem charity conferences. Those who doubt the wisdom of
these methods are no longer so assured or so numerous. All things
considered, these collective agencies enable us to accomplish very
much more than would be otherwise possible. The best service
that we can render is to encourage and strengthen them, and at the
same time to take steps to protect ourselves and the poor against
their known limitations. The ideal school consists of one teacher
and one pupil, but there are too few teachers and too many pupils.
Hence, we attempt the wholesale method which we call the school,
this being merely education by means of a collective agency. If
we may- encotu-age the collective agency in education, why may we
not depend upon it and encourage it in the field of relief ?
The collective point of view prevails among the friends of the
poor as well. The individual is practically forbidden to do relief
work alone. He is made to feel guilty if he does so. We ask
him to become a member of an organization. We ask the organiza-
tion to associate itself with other organizations, to exchange in-
formation, compare results, to resort to division of labor, to supple-
ment and reenforce one another. Thus all of the relief organiza-
tions of a city are asked to come together into an inclusive form of
unity that will work out effective correlation of efforts in the name
of efficiency. The reasoning that supports this development is
strong. To a great extent the poor have become an anon)mious
multitude. The current of our lives is separated from the current
of life among them. In the absence of personal knowledge and
stable relations between the poor and the well-to-do, we are com-
pelled to investigate, to discriminate, and to adopt habits of caution
in relief work. In order that investigation may be well made and
64 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [Apr
the results of it may be utilized, organization and method are nece
sary. In order that the wisdom of the many may be at the servi<
of all, discussion, conference, direction are essential. Since th
work of relieving the poor requires tact, patience, intelligence an
experience, a certain amoimt of training and restraint is necessarj
Organizations assemble those who are qualified for the work. The
act as experts in the name of all the friends of the poor who lacJ
talent or opportunity, but gladly offer their support-
All of this is practically beyond doubt. And yet this develop-
ment of organization and method has its limitations. If charitj
is the basis of spiritual, personal bonds between the strong and the
weak, no organization can take over the duty of loving one's
neighbor, although it may take over much of the work of serving
him. The more we proclaim the need of system and efficiency,
the more apt we are to forget the need that each of us has to know
the poor in person, and to be in some kind of contact with them.
Organization is admirable as regards the service of the poor. Is it
equally admirable for the strong in their personal and spiritual
interest? Professor Baldwin, eminent among American psychol-
ogists, has stated the question and answered it in this way :
In the organization of charities, for example, in the large
cities, much has been gained, no doubt, by what is called " con-
structive charity." The charity society receives and dispenses
the gifts of the charitable individuals. It certainly prevents
much misplaced giving and discourages vagrancy ; its end and
its results collectively considered are good. But its results upon
the individual are in many respects bad. The immediate re-
sponses of his charitable impulse are prevented ; the knowledge
of the single needy person is made remote and second-hand.
The beneficiary is classed as " case nimiber lo " and treated
with thousands like it. The bowels of mercy are succeeded by
the wheels of the typewriter, and the ready smile of human sym-
pathy gives place to the curves of the statistician. Every
citizen should support organized charity, but he should also
reserve some small change in his pockets, and he should every
now and then indulge in a debauch of capricious and sympa-
thetic giving, simply to keep alive in himself the springs of
divine and spontaneous charity.
It is slightly paradoxical to insist on efficiency and system in
relief work, while demanding that our relations with the poor be
191 5-1 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 65
those of personal and informal friendship. No friendship can
thrive if subjected to the exactions of efficiency and system. Those
who would satisfy the demands of efficiency without chilling the
impulses of love and the sympathies which those impulses create,
have no easy task. If the demands are inconsistent, let us err
on the side of love. It is not surprising to find that those who
hold to the religious view of charity are much less given to insistence
upon records, research, principles, and efficiency standards than
those who accept the modem sociological point of view without
reserve. The difference between the two becomes one of kind as
well as of d^;ree. For instance, modem efficiency standards would
forbid charities to overlap. They would forbid any new relief
oi^anization to enter the field provided an existing organization
could do the work in question. Now, if the mission of charity
is to the poor alone, the argument for efficiency is practically con-
clusive. If, however, the mission of charity is to the strong as well
as to the weak; if the strong have a right to the joy of service
and the luxury of spiritual sympathy with the poor, they must
be permitted in some degree, at least, to find these as they wish and
not as a system or a science commands. There is little to commend
the view which is sometimes expressed that the poor exist in order
that the rich may display kindly virtues toward them. Neverthe-
less, if the law of charity is universal, the strong have certain rights
in the work of relief which cannot be suspended or set aside by the
demands of efficiency or science. To find the balance between
these contending claims is far from easy. The suggestion is made
merely as a hint at some kind of limitations of the demands of
efficiency rather than as any suggestion or argument against it in
itself.
The relations of the State to problems in relief are changing.
Scholarship and sjrmpathy have forced upon the modern public,
much disturbing information concerning the poor. The modem
world believes with increasing earnestness that the poor are the
wards of civilization, that is, that the weak are the wards of the
strong. Historically, the Church claimed the right and exercised
the duty of extending loving care to the poor in the name of the
divine brotherhood established among us by Jesus Christ. With
the breakdown of old conditions and relations, the State has taken
over much of the work that is done for the poor. Voluntary or-
ganizations have developed to a vast extent, and they are busy with
every kind of relief. The modern employer is awakening to a
VOL. a.— 5
66 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [A,
sense of his responsibility for the poverty which may be trm
to accident or disease or insufficient wages. Wealth as such f^
a keen responsibility toward poverty. Great endowments s
princely gifts have become so common as to cease to excite more tf^
passing attention. Modem science feels called upon to declare i
message to the poor. Thus, the State, the Church, the employ^
social classes, voluntary organizations, and scholarship prodaJ
their several views of responsibility toward them, and all vcJuntel
services and resources in the interest of relief. There is more ^
less of confusion and of lack of coordination among all of thes
social agencies. One tendency appears above all others to extend th
authority of the State in the field of relief, and to diminish comei
spondingly the other activities alluded to. We ask the State ti
remedy the larger social conditions which occasion poverty or \n\
crease the helplessness of the poor. We ask it to undertake thos^
works of social reform which are of general character, and ard
beyond the reach of any other power which can compel obedience-
Social insurance, minimum wage legislation, compensation for acd-'
dents, the protection of personal health, and care for general sam'ta-
tion are works of this kind. But beyond this field, which is largely I
that of prevention, we ask the State to enter more directly than in
the immediate past into the field of relief itself. Perhaps the
development of mothers' pension legislation, and the demand that all
of the helpless wards of the State be cared for in public institutions
rather than in private institutions, and by public taxes, are the most
conspicuous instances of this tendency.
Without attempting to explain or impugn the motives which
urge on such measures, we may find certain plausible explanations
for the tendency in question. We are divided among ourselves by
religion, nationality, race, wealth, culture, sectionalism, and employ-
ment. These differences are enduring. They disappear among the
poor in the identity of their common misery and helplessness, and in
the indiscriminate tyrs^nny of the social processes which cause
poverty. The impression is growing that only a powerful and
standardized agency can cope with these forces and problems. The
only powerful agency at hand is the State. The only authority that
can master or direct social process is that of the State. The only
institution in which all of our differences disappear in last analysis
is the State — ^all other agencies appear to be growing weaker, while
the State alone is gaining in power every day. It is natural, the^^
fore, that men should turn to the strongest form of organized power
»9i5-l CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 67
in^tliixi reach, to deal with the strongest forces that are defeating
progress and perpetuating misery. It is natural that very many
develop the habit of mind of looking to the State to master the larger
problems of relief as well as those of prevention. Again, it is said
tha^t the burden of caring for the poor ought to be distributed with
relative equality among the strong. The only way that this can be
done, it is alleged, is by supporting relief work through taxation.
Of course, this development does not forbid, on the contrary, it
encourages and expects private effort in the field of relief. Never-
theless, the extension of the sphere of the State into the work of
relief becomes a factor in our thinking, and it promises to develop
rapidly regardless of the effect of that development upon the
impnlses of voluntary service in the field. The mental habit of
recurring to the State at once in facing relief problems without first
exhausting all other agencies, becomes a primary factor in every
typical situation in the field of relief. It is claimed that public
relief tends to encourage the development of poverty and listlessness,
and to kill the voluntary initiative of the well-to-do. The history
of public charity, and of even endowed charities, seems to bear
this out
There are some in our own circles who look upon this transfer
of responsibility for the poor from religion and voluntary organiza-
tions to the State with much misgiving. Stated in general terms,
the difficulty appears to be very serious, and the unforeseen conse-
quences of such measures do awaken serious concern. But the
warrant for State intervention in relief work may be traced back to
very serious problems which, for one reason or another, voluntary
charity, either social or religious, has failed to master. Wise de-
cision in this situation is not easy. We may, for instance, regret
the paternalism that leads our public authorities to undertake the
protection of the health of school children. Yet when parents
actually fail to give their children the foresighted protection to their
health to which they have a right, shall we prefer to see the children
remain under their handicaps rather than have them protected by
public authority? Of what avail is the theory that requires parents
to rear their children properly and tenderly, when the failure of tens
of thousands to do so makes necessary the development of school
policies and juvenile courts which are taking over parental functions
increasingly day by day? After all, the State tends to regard itself
as the residuary legatee of all forms of neglect and abuse of which
normal social agencies may be guilty. However, when we fail to
68 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [April
reconstruct homes and to force parents to do their duty, into what
path should wisdom direct us ? Should we insist upon a theory and
neglect conditions, or should we sacrifice a theory in the eamesi
hope of hindering irreparable harm? The drift toward State pater-
nalism is appalling. But how are we to stop it in the face of the
problems which public authority is endeavoring to solve, because it
feels with increasing keenness its responsibility to the future, and
recognizes the unmistakable failure of lessef social agencies to con-
quer situations.
The Catholic and the modern points of view in the field of
relief are quite out of sympathy with each other in their under-
standing of the moral law, and its place in the anns and methods of
charity. The traditional Catholic point of view accepts the natural
law as revealed in the constitution of humanity, and completed in
the teaching of Christ. Where the provisions of the natural and
divine moral law are understood as they aflfect practical measures
of relief and prevention, they merit and they receive reverent
obedience and loyal defence regardless of social, economic or political
consequences of whatsoever kind. Of course, there are questions of
detail which occasion controversies among ourselves. Whether or
not this or that or another proceeding is sanctioned or forbidden by
the natural or divine law, may at times be the subject of debate.
But no controversy among Catholic charity workers and leaders can
in any manner destroy the fixed spirit of reverence for the divine
moral law and the determination to respect it, regardless of what
it costs. This attitude must be regarded as a fixed element in the
mental outlook of the Catholic charity worker. It is fundamental
and compelling. No situation tempts one into any kind of disregard
for the moral law once it is imderstood.
The modem sociological point of view is quite distinct. It
tends to look upon morality as relative, and to compound a moral
law out oi transitory maxims dictated by current conceptions of
progress. The relativity of morals is true as a circumstance, but
false as a principle. Thus it occurs that the representative of the
modern point of view brings with him into his work a mental con-
stitution or attitude which subjects the moral law to the dictates of
progress, thereby implanting a mental perspective and standards of
practical judgment that in certain particular questions are antagonis-
tic to the Catholic attitude. For instance, in our traditions, we fix
by certain principles the limitations of State action. We attempt to
limit it, for instance, by its relations to family authority, to the
1915-1 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 69
Church, and to our conceptions of personal liberty and property.
The modem sociological point of view fails to take these fixed posi-
tions, and it permits an unstable conception of the State that is
adaptable to the current understanding of progress. The modern
point of view will dictate fearlessly and definitely a birth-rate or the
lack of it for the poor in the name of progress, but without the
faintest reference to anything like a law of nature or of God that
would define such proceedings as sinful. In our traditional under-
standing of the natural and divine law, we are forbidden to interfere
with certain rights of the individual and of the family, regardless
of any and all of the demands of so-called progress. The unfit, the
anti-social, the defective are looked upon by us under the restraints
which moral law places upon our aims and methods. There are no
restraints dictated in the modem point of view, except those enacted
in the name of progress.
Thus, it often happens that different attitudes toward the moral
law, taken in the traditional and the modem points of view, create
a fundamental division which cannot be bridged, because it is a divi-
sion that is due to a whole philosophy of life and of religion. The
differences referred to are far-reaching, to the extent of hindering
the development of a spirit of cooperation in many ways. Praise-
worthy efforts toward cooperation are constantly made with more or
less success. It would, of course, be foolish to assume that our atti-
tude of respect and reverence for the moral law insures wisdom to us.
We have no monopoly on wisdom and no assurance that we shall
not err. We should not, of course, appeal to the wisdom and
rightness of this attitude to excuse laziness or indifference or faulty
work among the poor. We must hold to this respect for the moral
law, and after that take over as much of the wisdom and power
and insight of the modem sociological view as our ability makes
possible and our philosophy allows.
Another difference may be mentioned. We Catholics are ac-
customed to trust the authority of the Church without qualification.
We accept our relief organizations, both lay and religious, with
greatest respect for their motives and with confidence in their
wisdom. We do not take a critical attitude toward them, and we
wish not to do so. Catholics are satisfied to support their institu-
tions and activities, to approve of them and encourage them, and
work with them with imqualified trust. One can scarcely imagine
a typical Catholic asking an orphan asylum to display its records
and bookkeeping before he would mak^ a donation to it. We car^
70 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [Apr:
greatly for the supernatural motive, and we respect it. We trui
the problems of bookkeeping, sanitation and administration to th
intelligence and honor of those in charge. Whether or not this i
the wisest thing to do is beyond the question. It is what we dc
The modern sociological point of view in relief departs altogethe
from this habit. It judges institutions and activities not by wha
they aim at, but by what they accomplish. The first requiremen
for approval is that of efficiency. Bookkeeping is inspected, record:
of work are investigated, compliance with assumed standards oi
wisdom is asked, before approval is bestowed or confidence is given.
Good bookkeeping, administration by system, up-to-date r^;ard
for the results of science, are the factors upon which sanction is
conditioned. The Catholic spirit shows a marked tendency to re-
spect the privacy of the poor, to conceal their misery, and to help
them in ways that are most considerate of their feelings, prospects,
and hopes. As a result of this attitude, our organizations are not
much given to the office administration and office methods that
attain to such prominence in circles where the modem point of view
is taken. Possibly, if we had sufficient means to do the relief work
that we find before us, and to pay the salaries that trained workers
should command, the administrative side of our charities would
develop more rapidly than is now the case. , But in the face of large
problems and limited resources, and depending as we do on volun-
teer workers who lead busy lives, we seek to do the essential things
first, and we are sometimes too easily satisfied with our n^ect
of non-essentials.
Turning from the contrast between the Catholic and the modem
points of view in relief, a word may be added as to some of the
limitations of our own work in particular. We need greater num-
bers of social workers in all of our cities. Those that are capable
and experienced in our circles are compelled now to do tod much.
We need stronger organizations and more of them. We need more
effective administration and foresight than are now displayed. We
do not know all of our own poor. We can not take care of all of
our own poor whom we know. While the development of organiza-
tion in our own circles is encouraging, there are great numbers of
Catholics who still give relief under the impulse of a good motive,
but not under the restraints of approved methods and through the
agency of organization. We have need of closer coordination
among our relief agencies. While our lay charities are working in
much closer cooperation than was formerly the case, there is still
1915.I CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 71
much to be desired in the improvement of efficiency and coordination
of eflFort. Cooperation between our religious and lay charities is
far from perfect Qoser association is both possible and desirable,
if we are to measure up to the reasonable standards of efficiency.
There is need of closer coordination among our religious
charities themselves. No method occurs to mind at this moment by
which our religious communities can get into touch with one another
to discuss their common problems. Each community does its own
work thoroughly and nobly, no doubt. But its experience lives and
dies to a great extent with itself. That experience produces little, if
any, literatiu-e that might declare its wisdom to the world or even
contribute, as such literature might, toward the final solution of the
great problems with which we deal. Even where members of dif-
ferent religious communities are engaged in the same field, and for
that matter in the same city, as, for instance, in child-caring work,
hospitals, or outside care of the sick, no method is developed by
which their representatives might come together for conference,
discussion, comparison of results or test of methods. The wisdom
of many is always greater than the wisdom of one. The collective
experience of many organizations is worth more than the wisdom
of any one organization. If universal experience has any value,
our religious communities would gain much and lose nothing if they
were to get into closer touch with one another, bring their experts
into systematic communication, and give ^forth in worthy literary
form the results of their experience. No organization, however
noWe its purpose, can escape a certain narrowing vision and ham-
pering traditional routine when it is untouched by outside influences.
Scholars, lawyers, physicians, scientists, artists, howsoever they
diflFer at every point and howsoever eminent they are, seek progress
through organization and conference. Our secular and civic char-
ities do likewise. • Our lay Catholic charities are doing so to a
marked deg^ree. Can it be that our sisterhoods make an exception
to this general law, or that there is an)rthing in the nature of the
religious life and its exalted aims that would be harmed by adopting
this method of improving efficiency?
Undoubtedly, our sisterhoods have a right to do the work that
they undertake in their own way. They have a right to the tradi-
tions of retirement which they love, and to the spirit of self-
effacement in which they do their work. But in a time when malice
and ignorance misrepresent and attack them and their methods,
the one effective answer that can be made is to display the great
y2 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [Apr
results of their work, and to vindicate the wisdom of the metho<
that they follow in doing that work. The success of the Cathol
Educational Association in drawing our teaching sisterhoods t<
gether into a national annual conference, shows us that what \
asked in the field of relief may be asked without overstepping th
bounds of propriety, and without departing from the worthy trad
tions of the spiritual life. Of course, our sisterhoods can and d
take advantage of the increasingly rich and abundant literatur
that modern relief work has created. All methods, all results, an<
all views in modern relief are available in easily accessible publishei
form. But there is still need of closer coordination of the com
munities themselves to reach a degree of efficiency and acknowledgec
wisdom worthy of the consecration and motive which they brinj
to the work.
One further need may be mentioned. It relates to the pro-
duction of a general relief literature which will adequately represent
the results no less than the methods and problems in Catholic
activity. The modern sociological drift has created a superb litera-
ture covering every aspect of poverty and relief. The literature
of investigation, of interpretation, of direction and of inspiration
that has come forth in the past twenty years will stand for all time
a monument to the sympathy and scholarship with which the age
has taken up problems of relief. We have need of a distinctively
Catholic literature for the sake of the work itself, and as a Catholic
contribution to modern efforts in the whole field of relief. We have
pressing need of a literature of investigation in distinctively Catholic
problems. We have great need of a literature of interpretation that
will carry into the explanation of problems the Catholic philosophy
of life, and of the meaning of sin and of divine grace in our sodal
problems. The modern general literature of direction is, on the
whole, available for us in most of our work. We have not hicked
at any time a sufficient literature of inspiration. Appeal should
be made to our schools to recognize the claims of relief work in the
organization of their courses. Appeal should be made to our
experienced leaders to do more thinking, and to publish the results
of their thinking. Appeal may be made to our religious com-
munities to give us a literature for which they have such abundant
material in the records of their work.
A single illustration may add point to these appeals. Statistics
on record in the juvenile courts of a half dozen large cities which
might be named, show on the surface that the proportion of Catholic
I9I5-1 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 73
children among delinquents is somewhat greater than the proportion
of Catholics in the population. Statements relating to these facts
and offering explanations of them have been made at the last two
meetings of the National Conference of Catholic Charities. Have
we not pressing need of a critical investigation of this problem made
after the approved methods of modem scholarship by a Catholic?^
Even a superficial glance at such records shows their misleading
character on account of failure to take account of factors
which modify, appreciably, one's first impressions. There
arc many problems that affect us and our methods vitally.
What type of apologetics for the faith and social action of the
Church could better answer the searching questions of modern
times than an exact, scholarly literature in this great field of relief.
We have aspirations for it and beginnings of it. Let its develop-
ment become the ambition of all who have experience and insight
in the work of relief, and we shall answer every challenge to our
wisdom and every dissent from our philosophy with confidence
and power.
*A tttxly of this kind is now being made by a graduate student in the Catholic
University.
72 CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK [April,
results of their work, and to vindicate the wisdom of the methods
that they follow in doing that work. The success of the Catholic
Educational Association in drawing our teaching sisterhoods to-
gether into a national annual conference, shows us that what is
asked in the field of relief may be asked without overstepping the
bounds of propriety, and without departing from the worthy tradi-
tions of the spiritual life. Of course, our sisterhoods can and do
take advantage of the increasingly rich and abundant literature
that modern relief work has created. All methods, all results, and
all views in modern relief are available in easily accessible published
form. But there is still need of closer coordination of the com-
munities themselves to reach a degree of efficiency and acknowledged
wisdom worthy of the consecration and motive which they bring
to the work.
One further need may be mentioned. It relates to the pro-
duction of a general relief literature which will adequately represent
the results no less than the methods and problems in Catholic
activity. The modern sociological drift has created a superb litera-
ture covering every aspect of poverty and relief. The literature
of investigation, of interpretation, of direction and of inspiration
that has come forth in the past twenty years will stand for all time
a monument to the sympathy and scholarship with which the age
has taken up problems of relief. We have need of a distinctively
Catholic literature for the sake of the work itself, and as a Catholic
contribution to modern efforts in the whole field of relief. We have
pressing need of a literature of investigation in distinctively Catholic
problems. We have great need of a literature of interpretation that
will carry into the explanation of problems the Catholic philosophy
of life, and of the meaning of sin and of divine grace in our social
problems. The modern general literature of direction is, on the
whole, available for us in most of our work. We have not lacked
at any time a sufficient literature of inspiration. Appeal should
be made to our schools to recognize the claims of relief work in the
organization of their courses. Appeal should be made to our
experienced leaders to do more thinking, and to publish the results
of their thinking. Appeal may be made to our religious com-
munities to give us a literature for which they have such abundant
material in the records of their work.
A single illustration may add point to these appeals. Statistics
on record in the juvenile courts of a half dozen large cities which
might be named, show on the surface that the proportion of Catholic
1915-I CONDITIONS IN RELIEF WORK 73
children among delinquents is somewhat greater than the proportion
of Catholics in the population. Statements relating to these facts
and offering explanations of them have been made at the last two
meetings of the National Conference of Catholic Charities. Have
we not pressing need of a critical investigation of this problem made
after the approved methods of modern scholarship by a Catholic?^
Even a superficial glance at such records shows their misleading
character on account of failure to take account of factors
which modify, appreciably, one's first impressions. There
are many problems that affect us and our methods vitally.
WTiat type of apologetics for the faith and social action of the
Church could better answer the searching questions of modern
times than an exact, scholarly literature in this great field of relief.
We have aspirations for it and beginnings of it. Let its develop-
ment become the ambition of all who have experience and insight
in the work of relief, and we shall answer every challenge to our
wisdom and every dissent from our philosophy with confidence
and power.
'A study of this kind is now being made by a graduate student in the Catholic
UniTersity.
THE HOUSE OF A DREAM.
BY KATHARINE TYNAN.
\XVIA ARMADALE had come to England as soon
as she was her own mistress, with the intention of
settling there. Her family had been Califomian for
several generations. One would have thought that
the gray skies and the fogs of England could have
little appeal for her. She looked a creature of the sun and the
beautiful weather, an upstanding, slender girl, of swift, beautiful
movements, with a pallor which had a touch of healthy gold in it,
dead-leaf hair with a burnish to it like a pheasant's wing, and eyes
of the same copper brown.
No one of her friends could understand the attraction England
held for her. While she grew up in the Convent of the Holy Pillar
— ^her father had died when she was ten years old, leaving her with
scarcely a relative in the world — she had always known that, as
soon as she was free to go, she would go to England. She could
not have explained it to her cousin, James Armadale, who was
President of the Armadale Banking Company from which Sylvia
derived her income, a larger income than she knew what to do with,
not yet having found her way.
James would have thought it madness — ^that a dream should
have power over her to bring her to England, rushing away by
herself in a manner he thought unseemly, instead of awaiting the
time when she could go under a husband's care and protection.
James Armadale was for the time engrossed in business interests.
He could hot imagine that any woman would stir his pulses as did
the making of two dollars where only one had stood before. He
was only twenty-eight, but he was older than many men of sixt)-
eight By and by, when he had time, he meant to point out to
Sylvia the advantages of amalgamating their interests in the bank.
At the moment he had not time.
Sylvia was very shy about her dream. Once she had told
it, in a burst of confidence, to a black-eyed, black-haired child at the
convent school. Dolores had been profoundly thrilled by the story
of the dream; but when it came to Sylvia's scheme of following
1915.] THE HOUSE OF A DREAM 75
it ap by looking for the house of her dream in England, the little
girl had been discouraging.
" It is a country of cold heretics where the sun never shines,"
she said. " No bigger than my pocket handkerchief, and with not
a single place without crowds of people — so I have heard. You
wotdd be mad, Sylvia. Besides — ^your dream! After all, it is but
a dream. There is no such house."
After this discouraging experience Sylvia had held her tongue.
While papa lived she had often tried to tell him about her dream ;
but he had been too busy to listen. She supposed, in a manner of
speaking, that the dream derived from mamma, who had always
wanted to go to England, and had died without ever seeing it,
being scarcely older when she died than Sylvia was now. It was
not at all likely that Sylvia would breathe a word of her dream to
James Armadale, of all creatures living.
She had started for England in charge of a lady whom even
James Armadale could trust. Sylvia was weary of protesting her
capability of taking care of herself to James Armadale's unbelief.
She accepted willingly enough Mrs. Wilbur's chaperonage across
the States, across the Atlantic. The one thing no one could have
foreseen was that Mrs. Wilbur should have a breakdown in health as
soon as she got to England. After a few weeks in a nursing home
she was sent back. Sylvia would rather have had her emancipation
in any other way thsm by Helen Wilbur's illness. But there was
nothing to grieve about. The illness had taken a satisfactory course.
Eldred Wilbur had come to take his wife home. He had sug-
gested, with a glint in his eye, that James Armadale wotdd expect
Sylvia to return with them. Sylvia had laughed back at him.
" Tell him that you have left me with an English maid who
has been with the best families, and is as good as any courier for
knowing her way about Europe. Tell him that Sarah fairly
bristles with respectability. Tell him that he may look for me
when I am tired of traveling."
She had cast her bread on the waters. It was as likely
to lead her to the house of her dreams as any other way, for she
had no clue. Was she to explore England from end to end for
the house of a dream — ^which might have no existence except
in a dream?
As they came from Liverpool to London, in the train among
their traveling companions had been a fresh-colored English lady,
who had been ready and able to explain England to the Americans.
76 THE HOUSE OF A DREAM [April,
They had just passed Lichfield, and she had been sending the Ameri-
cans on a Johnson pilgrimage — ^that is to say, not Sylvia and Mrs-
Wilbur, but a group of eager Bostonians who were doing the
trip in a real spirit of pilgrimage.
Her eyes had seemed for a moment to rest on Sylvia as she
said: "You must be sure to see Malvern. The very secret of
England is, I think, locked up in Malvern. It is the heart of
English beauty.*'
The afternoon of the day on which the Wilburs had left
London, the admirable Sarah came to her mistress in tears. Sarah's
mother was ill in a Worcestershire village and she must go to her ;
but how leave her lady, alone, unattended in a London caravansary.
Sarah might be a traveled woman, but the result of her traveling-
had not been to give her faith in human kind. To Sylvia's mind
Sarah's alarms would have been humorous, if it had not been for
the spectacle of the good creature's responsibility struggling with
her family affection.
Suddenly flashed the elucidation. She remembered Malvern.
Sarah's native village was not far from Malvern. They could
travel together. From what Sylvia could learn there was nothing
of wicked wiles about Malvern.
She had been planning to do London thoroughly by herself.
She was in love with its secret quietnesses — ^the Temple Church,
the Abbey, the old City churches — ^the Middle Ages in the swirling
tide of twentieth century activity, twilit places full of ancient peace.
All that must wait till she came back. Sarah was quite satisfied
about Malvern. There were no wolves at Malvern apparently.
Her young lady would be quite safe till she was free to return to
her. She was not sure about Ajax, the baby bulldog who was
Sylvia's latest acquisition. They might object to Ajax at the Beau-
mont Arms, which was Sarah's recommendation. " In w'ich case,"
said Sarah, " you send for me. Miss, an' I'll find you lodgin's, unless
Mrs. Wood of the Niche still lets her rooms."
Sylvia wrote a letter of rapture to James Armadale upon
the heart of England, as she saw it from the windows of the
Beaumont Arms, thirty miles of silver valley stretching away
between her and the Cotswalds, intersected with streams, dotted
with villages and church spires, over it all the strange shining white-
ness of the fruit blossom and the may. She referred disingenu-
ously to Sarah, without mentioning her absence. Her alarm was
that if he knew her unprotected state, James Armadale might find
1915.I THE HOUSE OF A DREAM 77
another chaperone for her, and she had a constitutional dislike of
being in opposition.
Ajax drove her forth from the safe shelter of the Beaumont
Arms sooner than she had intended. He was a gregarious animal,
and he took up his place on the mat in the entrance hall of the hotel,
and welcomed visitors with what he thought to be an ingratiating
smile. However, it had quite another effect on nervous visitors,
and the landlord, with an apologetic pat of the gray velvet skin that
held Ajax loosely within it, announced that the dog would have to
live in the kennel where there was a nice little dog-run, as people
were so scary, and he had to live by his patrons.
So Sylvia set out in search of lodgings. Mrs. Wood of the
Niche had long ceased to let rooms, and was at rest with her fathers.
Having failed there, Sylvia was coming back with Ajax at her heels
when she happened upon a very old-fashioned bus with a red-faced
driver. He was waiting for passengers at a comer, and he cracked
his whip as Sylvia came near.
" Just goin' to start for Maybush, Miss," he said. " Would the
dorg like to see the country?"
Ah^ here was someone who had the sense not to be afraid
of Ajax. The word Maybush had caught Sylvia's ear. Delightful
name! It seemed to hold in it the fragrance of the country, green
and white, as she was realizing it every day with a more passionate
pleasure. The sharp, clean exquisite green, so unlike anything she
had known in California; the dazzling white; oh, it was delicious,
a world new-made, fresh from God's hand, without a stain on it.
And Maybush held the whole fresh and fragrant delight of it.
She climbed up to the top of the bus, where the driver helped
Ajax to her side, with a fearlessness which commanded her respect.
He pointed out various places to her with the whip, making running
commentaries and explanations to her as they went. She was not
always sure of what he said, but the manner of it pleased her.
The jolting bus, which swayed from side to side, jogged along
leisurely. Oh, this was Arcady! The leafy roads along the
side of the hill enchanted her. She felt exquisitely happy. There
was not a flaw in the fulfillment of her anticipations. The bus
drew up at last — under an exquisite little hill, shaped softly
like the outline of a breast. There was a long black and white-
fronted inn, with projecting gables.
" Mrs. 'Arris'U give you as good a cup o' tea. Miss, as 'art
could desire," said the bus-driver, " and don't 'urry over it. We
78 THE HOUSE OF A DREAM [April,
don't go back, not for two hours more. Time to see a bit o' the
country roundabout as soon as you've 'ad your tea."
Sylvia found that Mrs. Harris matched everything else at
Maybush. " The Coach an* 'Orses," she explained to Sylvia ^vho
heard her with rapture, *' *ad bin in 'Arris' family time out of initi<L
If the young lady was to go up by Maybush Churchyard, she'd
see for herself that there were 'Arrises there in the time of Good
Queen Bess and earlier." Sylvia was delighted. Surely she had
attained the goal of all her hopes. It was better than her antici-
pations.
Mrs. Harris presided over the tea, broadly smiling. It was a
plentiful country tea — homemade bread, cream, sweet country
butter, honey, a little dish of watercress, fresh from one of the
streams that tinkled on the wide heathy space in front of the
inn. She had her tea in one of the gable rooms, paneled and wain-
scoted in oak. She sat by one of the deep low windows. The
tinkle of the streams came to her ear mingled with the bleating of
sheep and lambs, the songs of birds, the call of the shy plover.
There was an apple tree all rosily pink in the inn garden. The
smell of a bean field in blossom was blown in at the open
window.
Sylvia was bewildered, over-joyed. Could Mrs. Harris give
her a bedroom and the use of a sitting-room? She had never
seen any place she liked so well as the Coach and Horses.
Mrs. Harris was distressed. Her only available rooms were
occupied at the moment by a young couple who were likely to stay
during the summer. Anything Mrs. Harris could do in the way of
finding a lodging — suddenly her face brightened. Standing up at
the end of the table she had caught sight of someone entering the inn
garden.
"If it isn't Father Gilbert," she said, "you're not in luck.
He'll be able to tell whether Mrs. Burberry's rooms at the Farm
is yet took."
Sylvia looked out of her window. It was the one thing
needful. A tall man in the habit of a monk had paused by the
garden gate to speak to Ajax, who lay basking in the sun in the
inn garden. He straightened himself, and Sylvia saw a rosy benign
face and spectacles. Mrs. Harris hastened to intercept him. He
was on his way to visit her young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer, who
had the other gable room for their sitting-room. She brought him
triumphantly to Miss Armadale, explaining that the young lady
1915] THE HOUSE OF A DREAM 79
wished for a lodging, and did he know if Mrs. Burberry's rooms
were still to let.
Father Gilbert, as he stood upright in the gable room, looked
down at Sylvia from somewhere among the rafters. His eyes, of
an uncommon blueness, looked at her as though she were a child.
His hands were in his big sleeves, a great rosary hung from his
girdle. Oh, it was satisfying. He completed the picture of medi-
aeval England.
Father Gilbert thought that Mrs. Burberry was still unlet. As
his friends were out for a walk, he volunteered to guide the young
lady to the Farm, Mrs. Burberry was one of his flock — ^a good
creature. If the young lady was satisfied with very simple living
— for a second the man-of-the-world leaped oddly to light in Father
Gilbert's blue eyes, as though he had detected under Miss Armadale's
studied simplicity of attire the fact that she was a lily of the
field — she could be very comfortable at the Farm — till she grew
tired of it
They walked away across the heathy open space, amid the
tinkling streams, the flocks, and the wandering cry of the plover.
As they talked they discovered common likings, common interests.
That glimpse of the man of the world in Father Gilbert's face
had not been misleading: he had traveled much, read much, met
many people. Pictures, music, books — Father Gilbert could talk
about them all. Now and again he drew her attention to some
small detail of the beauty about them. He halted once or twice at a
cottage door to ask a question. The children, herding cattle, hunt-
ing about in the tussocks for plovers' eggs, looked up and smiled
as he came near, dropping him quaint curtseys.
Sylvia was warmed, delighted, as one feels when one has met
a really congenial spirit. She felt something else — ^as though she
were a returned traveler. She was not discovering this heavenly
country. Somewhere she had known it all before. Some strange
sense in her ran on before her feet, telling her what she should
find round the next comer, at a turn of the road.
They had left the wide Common behind, and were on the road
again, when Father Gilbert pulled up at the garden gate of a cottage
that turned its gable end to the road.
" I warned you it was very small," he said apologetically.
" It is all on a miniature scale, including Mrs. Burberry herself."
"It is delicious," said Sylvia, breathing in the scent of the
wallflowers, the lilacs, the clove pinks, gazing with delight on the
8o THE HOUSE OF A DREAM [April,
ivied cottage out of which five tiny windows like kind old eyes
looked at her, blinking in the late sun. She had just caught the
apple blossom — for there was a tree deeply pink as a cabbage rose in
one of the vegetable beds. Fruit and flowers and vegetables were
packed as tight as they could be. The garden was a mosaic of color
and light and sweetness.
Mrs. Burberry, a tiny woman, with an anxious face, came out
as the old sheep dog in the porch barked and leaped on Father
Gilbert, before going on to inspect Ajax. Yes — her rooms were
still unlet. The young lady could see them. Of course she would
do her best — she looked a meek entreaty from Sylvia to Father
Gilbert — she knew the rooms were very small, but if the young'
lady decided on taking them she would do her very best.
Sylvia followed Mrs. Burberry upstairs, while Father Gilbert
read his Office standing out in the garden. She knew it was a
formality her seeing the rooms'; she meant to take them from the
start. Was there ever such delicious peace? Down here on the
plain she was just far enbugh from those heavenly hills to get them
in all their aspects. The sunset would not be hid from her nor
the dawn. At Maybush the little hill like a breast would have taken
all the sunset; here the little house was bathed in evening light.
Long glints of gold came in at the low windows. It shone on the
distant hills, catching a window here and there or the gold vane
of a church, setting up a cresset of flame.
The little farm was as clean and innocent as the fresh new-
made world outside. On the first landing was a tiny altar of
innocent babyish figures. At the stair-head, a bigger altar, a
Madonna with a blue lamp, vases of narcissi, wallflowers and blue
bells. In the rooms the same tiny altars everywhere — ^the artless
images seeming somehow to fit in with the anxious, wistful face
of the little landlady.
Mrs. Burberry was ready for a lengthened discussion about
the rooms, plainly ready to concede anything the lady wished.
She had no objection at all to Ajax if the young lady wished to have
him with her. Sylvia laughed at the deprecating expression of the
little face as she doubled the sum Mrs. Burberry had asked, which,
even doubled, was a very small sum. She soothed the little woman's
doubts and fears. She knew. she would be satisfied, more than
satisfied with Mrs. Burberry's cooking — with everything. It was
all too sweet and lovely! If Mrs. Burberry had been the ordinary
landlady she would have regretted a lost harvest. As it was she
I9I5-1 THE HOUSE OF A DREAM 8i
blinked under Miss Armadale's raptures, blushed in a way that made
her suddenly pretty, and hoped she would deserve the young lady's
goodness.
Twenty-four hours later saw Miss Armadale installed as Mrs.
Burberry's lodger. Her first meal was a delightful one, light
and delicately cooked, almost too dainty, with asparagus and an
omelette, the very first gooseberries with whipped cream, and coffee
of the most delicious quality. " In a day or two more," said Mrs.
Burberry, " I'll know your little ways, Miss, and what youll like.
And you'll please to tell me anything you don't like about my
cooking. If you'll just tell me. Miss, the dishes you like I'd do my
best to please you, I really would."
Miss Armadale said something bewildering to Mrs. Burberry
about being fed on honey-dew and drinking the milk of paradise;
but as she accompanied the strange speech by a manner which was
almost caressing, Mrs. Burberry was happy for the moment, and
smoothed out the lines of puzzled anxiety in her forehead, only to
display them again as she turned back to ask how Miss Armadale
liked her eggs for breakfast, and if she would have coffee or
chocolate or tea.
Sylvia was too excited when she went to bed to sleep. At
ten o'clock she had discovered that Mrs. Burberry, and Tom Bur-
berry, who had been afoot since early morning, were waiting to go to
bed; so she took her book upstairs with her, meaning to read
herself asleep if necessary.
Quietness settled down on the little cottage and the country
outside. The calls of the plover had dropped into silence; the
blackbird had gone asleep after disturbing the nests in the coppice
with his long-drawn-out good-nights till an unconscionable hour.
The valley stretched before the window as light as day in the
moonlight, till it ended in a line of sharp blackness where the
shadow of the mountains fell.
There was such a strange pleasurable feeling of having come
home wrapping her warmly that she could not sleep. She looked
about her at the chintz curtains of her bed, the pictures of saints, the
crucifix on the wall, the little altar in the comer burning its dim
red light. There was something familiar, long-lost and foimd
again, about it all. Not the room exactly, but the air, the garden
scents, the hills, the dark coppice below the hill, where the road
moimted. She must have known this in another life; she must
have been in those quiet and moonlit fields; she must have heard
VOL. ci,^-6
82 THE HOUSE OF A DREAM [April,
that strange bird-note — the night-jar — in just such a coppice under
such a hill.
She could neither read nor sleep. She blew out her candle,
got up, and sat by the open window. The scent of the white may,
miles and miles of it, was intoxicatingly sweet. Was there ever
anything so gentle as the quiet fields, the line of the hills, the tower
of Maybush Church in the distance, the dark coppice below the
hill.
She had known them all before — in some other life. She had
smelt the may. She had seen the moon just so, like a lamp above
the mountains. She looked down at the white road that ran past
the Farm, and she was suddenly aware that if she were to take
it and climb the hill, she would find an entrance gate on the left
hand side of the road. By it she would enter an avenue overhung
with trees, the trees of the coppice. At a turn of it she would
come out in front of an old house, set upon terraces, part Eliza-
bethan, part much older, with a lake at its feet — rather two lakes,
adjoining — divided by a little bridge and a weir, with sluice gates to
the lower lake by which the water could be emptied away in time of
flood. The house faced the mountains, yet stood far enough away
to escape their shadow. If she went in at the hall door — it had
always stood open in her dream —
Her dream! There was something in the moonlight and the
smell of the may that made her foolish. Was it likely she would
find the house of her dream up there beyond the coppice? It was a
delusion. How could she have known of it? Yet, it was true that
from as. far back as she could remember, she had had a recurring
dream of an old house, fronting a hill, beautiful amid its lawns and
gardens — the two lakes in front. She had always come upon it out
of the shadow of trees, and had looked towards the hills before enter-
ing and taking possession, as one enters one's own delightful home,
with a sense of a goal reached, a pilgrimage finished, rest and dear
delight awaiting her. Again and again she had awakened from her
dream with a black desolation, because the source of the happiness
which came to meet her in the dreamhouse was not fully revealed.
She said to herself sharply that there was no house there
— on its terraces behind the coppice. Why, she would be sleep-
walking in search of it if she did not take care, reviving an old bad
habit of her childhood. To-morrow she would climb up the hilly
road and discover for herself that there was no house. She would
not be disappointed. How often she had told herself that the house
I9IS.] THE HOUSE OF A DREAM 83
of her dreams had no existence, that it had been bequeathed to her
by the sick longings of her mother. Why, if there were a house
there it would be something quite different; she would not know
the way.
Suddenly something marvelous happened. There had been
cheepings and chirpings which she had hardly noticed. Suddenly
there was a low call — ^a pause — ^an answering call, and then the
long trill of the nightingale.
She realized immediately that it must mean nightingales ! Oh,
she had not been thinking of them. She had not imagined such a
golden fortune as that she should find the nightingales, here in the
heart of England, in the flowering time of all the year! It must
be the nightingales, since no other birds sang at night. The wonder
and the rapture of it flooded her thoughts. Why she might have
known they would sing here if only she had considered it, for May
was the month of the nightingales in England, and surely this was
the place they would choose, this heavenly place.
She fell asleep to the singing of the nightingales, and awoke
to the sound of Mrs. Burberry filling her bath. The little woman
was anxious about her guest's sleep. "The nightingales. You
should close your window of nights, Miss, else they'll keep you
awake. Burberry he do often drat them till he gets so used to them
that he doesn't hear them."
" Tell me," Sylvia said on a sudden impulse, " there is a big
house up there in the coppice just below the hill."
Mrs. Burberry stared. "For sure, Miss, Maybush Place.
Many a one comes to see Maybush Place. The Squire's at home
now ; but I don't think he'd mind your seeing it. It's a grand old
place for sure. It stood the Wars of the Roses just as it stands now.
It'll be a sad day when the Langleys are gone out of it."
It was a curious coincidence. Sylvia was almost afraid to ask
any more questions. She felt as though she needed some preparation
before this house of her dreams should burst upon her.
" Langleys? " she repeated confusedly. •
"Yes, Langleys, Miss. Maybush Place has belonged to the
Langleys for hiindreds of years. Not much longer it won't. The
Squire can't keep it going. He's got to sell. Ten thousand pounds
they say it would take to do what the house wants done to it. 'Tis
on the agents' books. Some rich man will buy it presently, and
there won't be a Langley left Squire ought to marry money, but
he isn't that sort. He farms a bit. He was in the army. They say
84 THE HOUSE OF A DREAM [April,
if he sells the Place he'll look for a job of soldiering again.
'Twould break his heart I should say, Miss, to see Maybush Place
go from him. Twouldn't be everyone's money neither."
A day or two later Sylvia came face to face with the Squire.
She had trespassed, crossing a gate into the Squire's woods that
hung on the side of the hill, disregarding the warning board.
A tall man slightly gray at the temples, with an austere look
as though from devotion to lost causes, yet the blue eyes of a boy
in a ruddy face. A fine upstanding figure in gray homespims, two
or three dogs at his heels, who took a friendly interest in Ajax!
The wood was intersected by wide paths. On the one side she
looked up, up through the hanging gardens clad in grass-green silk.
On the other, she looked down on the chimney tops of Maybush
Place, seen dimly through the fine network of green branches.
What she could not see, her knowledge, her fancy, filled in. There
were the lakes with the water-lily leaves upon them — ^the gabled
house, the odd little tower at one corner, which was the oldest part
of the house, where a queen of the Plantagenets had slept.
Oh, she knew it all. She was bewildered. She said to her-
self that blindfolded she could pick her way through the rooms,
up winding stairs, along corridors. There must have been meaning
and intention in the fortuitous chances that had brought her here.
Her own beloved house of which she had dreamed all her life.
And it was in the market. She could buy it, put it on its feet again.
She was meant to possess it, to guard it, to treasure it, just as it was.
How awful if it had fallen into the wrong hands!
James would grumble. What matter ! She was her own mis-
tress, and there was a considerable sum at her disposal, the savings
of her minority. She wondered how much Mr. Langley would
want. Oddly enough she had not thought of the dispossessed
owner of the Place till, turning about, she saw him.
She thought she must have seen him before — somewhere they
had met — in another life perhaps. She looked at him, her lips
a little parted, and he looked at her with something surely of a
startled recognition in his eyes.
" I'm afraid I am trespassing," she stammered.
" Please — use the woods as you like. I have heard of you
from Father Gilbert. But you needn't climb gates. I will show
you where the padlock key lies under a stone."
He had a charming voice, slow, gentle, yet with deep masculine
tones in it, and she was very susceptible to the beauty of a voice.
1915] THE HOUSE OF A DREAM 85
She turned and walked with him. Their common friendship with
Father Gilbert seemed to be introduction enough. And the Squire
stooped to pet Ajax with a very friendly face.
" You were looking down at the Place when I saw you first,"
he said. " You Hke old buildings? "
" I love old English houses/' she returned, and was aware
of the inadequacy of what she was saying.
" It is a dear old place," he sighed, and he looked down
as he walked. " My sister is away just now. When she comes
back I hope she may be permitted to call upon you. We shall hope
to see you at the Place — if you will do us so much honor."
She loved the formality of it. It seemed right in Gilles
Langley, even though it was quaint to her freedom-loving mind.
She was almost glad that she need not see the Place just yet. She
wanted to get used to the idea of it. Meanwhile, when she went
back to the Farm, she wrote to the firm of old-fashioned solicitors
in London to whom she had been commended by James, telling them
her wish to purchase Maybush Place. She posted the letter with
her own hands before she sat down to lunch, as though she was
determined to make it irrevocable. She was right, because hardly
had she done it before she was seized with a tremor. She felt
as though she had been guilty of an act of treachery to the Langleys,
going behind their backs to buy Maybush Place.
She was thinking so much about it that she hardly noticed
Mrs. Burberry, who gossiped away placidly while she waited. Mrs.
Burberry was talking about the ghosts at the Place. The Planta-
genet queen apparently still wept for the ruin of her cause. There
was a monk who read his breviary in the little stone room off the
library, which was all that remained of the old Cistercian Abbey on
the ruins of which the Place had been built. Mrs. Burberry
referred to the monk as a nasturtium ghost, and Sylvia hardly
smiled. There was a third ghost, a lady who came and went.
She had frightened the servants away of late years. " Wot sheVe
got to do with the family," said Mrs. Burberry darkly, " is more
than I know. Squire, he don't know either."
After that the Squire began to drop in to see Tom Burberry,
who was his tenant, pretty often. And he and Miss Armadale were
always meeting each other about the hills, on the roads in the woods,
out on the heath that stretched for miles; but they only met on
the heath once, and then the Squire, with a certain sternness which
Sylvia did not resent, forbade her to walk on the heath alone.
86 THE HOUSE OF A DREAM [April,
" You might meet with rough people," he said. '' If you wish to
walk on the heath I am always at your service."
" But I have Ajax," she protested.
" Oh, yes," he agreed. " Still, you had better let me know
when you wish to walk on the heath."
They became friends with extraordinary quickness. Gilles
Langley was a very uncomplicated person. Sylvia Armadale felt
after a few of these walks and talks that she knew all about him
that was to be known, and nothing displeased her. He belonged to
the old world. He was delightfully in keeping with Maybush Place.
There was a deal of the Middle Ages about him. A Quixotic
person, sincere, simple, and courageous. She liked to look through
a man as through a clear glass.
One day as they came down the hill behind Maybush Village
towards the Place, they met with Father Gilbert, who had been
absent for some days. Sylvia was somewhat ill at ease; the
Squire had been abstracted, gloomy. She thought she knew the
cause; the business about the purchase of the Place was going
on. She had forbidden the lawyers to mention her name yet.
She had been expecting the Squire to speak of it, but he did not.
" I have something to tell you. Father Gilbert," said the
Squire; •" I think Maybush Place has found a purchaser at last."
" Oh — I am — glad," said the priest; yet he looked as though he
had received a blow. "Is it true? Maybush — without the
Langleys."
Sylvia longed to cry out that she would not take Maybush
from the Langleys. Something stilled the words on her lips. The
two men were looking at each other sorrowfully. They had for-
gotten her.
" Come in and lunch with me. Father Gilbert," the Squire said,
"and Miss Armadale — if you would come too, I should be so
honored. Perhaps — I may not be able to ask you much longer."
" I should love to come," said Sylvia, gently.
They went into the house by the open hall door, without
meeting anyone. Sylvia walked like a person in a dream. She
was unaware that she had taken the lead, and was going on before
as though she knew the way. She opened the drawing-room door
and went in, looking about her, recognizing the things she had seen
in her dream.
" Oh ! " cried a startled voice. A little lady had stood up
from a chair by the window — Gilles Langley's sister. Impossible
1915.] THE HOUSE OF A DREAM 87
to mistake her with those blue eyes. Her exclamation had been
almost a shriek.
" Oh, darling, I did not know you had come," the Squire said
kissing her fondly. " This is Miss Armadale. She is staying at
the Farm."
"But — ^how like — " the little lady was staring at Sylvia.
"What an odd thing!"
The Squire laughed.
" You are remarkably like one of our family ghosts, Miss
Armadale," he said. " I saw it the first time we met, and men-
tioned it to Father Gilbert. It really is a ghost. We have all seen
it at one time or another. It — she — ^has come walking down a
corridor, opening the door of a room and looking in. I have seen
her myself in the gardens, flitting before me. I could never come
up with her."
He laughed, seeing that Sylvia looked a little pale, and turned
it off with a jest.
" Not that you are a ghost, thank God," he said, with an
intensity which made Father Gilbert stare at him through his
glasses with surprise and some doubt.
After lunch, when Father Gilbert and Mrs. Ponsonby found
a good deal to talk about, being plainly old and good friends,
the Squire offered to show Sylvia the house. It held no surprise
for her. Everywhere she knew what was coming, and ran on to
meet it.
In a simshiny little octagon room which had apparently been
a boudoir for the ladies of the family, he turned and looked at her
with a bafBed expression.
" I believe you are really the ghost," he said. " Or you have
been here before. I have been discovering that the house has no
mysteries for you."
" I believe I am the ghost," she said simply, " I don't know
how it is or why it is that my spirit should have come over all
those thousands of miles of sea and land to Maybush Place. Since
I have been a small child I have known it all in my dreams. I came
to look for it. There was always something more I wanted to
know."
" Ah," he said, " I knew you when I saw you ; I knew that in
some way you belonged to me. I have nothing to offer you, Sylvia
Dnly a heart that has never loved a woman before."
It was the wooing she would have desired of him. She was
88 THE HOUSE OF A DREAM [April,
in his arms. He had never loved a woman before. He had
brought her an unstained heart, and she had seen it in the austerity
of his brow and his lips, in his boyish eyes.
"Will you come into exile with me, my wife?" he asked
passionately. " My poor little woman. You will only have a pair
of strong arms to work for you. Maybush is sold. It has housed
the last of the Langleys. I shall not bring my bride to Maybush.
My children will not be bom here. Maybush shall be empty of
Langleys for the first time for seven htmdred years. It is bitter,
but the good God has given me you."
" With Maybush in my hand," she cried. "Oh, Gilles, I only
bought it to give it back. It is yotu"s, we need never leave it.
I have a right to the place as well as you. Was I not bom to
return to it? Even while I slept my spirit came and took posses-
sion."
" You," he said with stupefaction, " the owner of Maybush !
I had no idea — ^you were so simple — living alone — ^at the Farm.
How could I tell?"
" I think," she said, smoothing a pucker from between his
level brows with her kiss, " I think if you had known that I was
an heiress in my own right, your pride would have shut one door
against me. Think of me, a poor little spirit that must be always
knocking at the door of Maybush and the door of your heart.
And always to be standing outside. Now, oh, now I know what
it was that lay just beyond my dream and made it pain to awaken.
It was your love."
He took her two hands and kissed them as though he laid
something in them for her to do what she would with — ^his pride.
And Ajax, looking up at them, wagged his tail, as though he had
been an instrument
REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DATS.
BY JAMES A. ROONEY, LL.D.
|N April, 1865, while Cardinal Farley was still a
collegian at Fordham; when New York's small
Catholic population was ministered to by one himdred
and nineteen priests in seventy-seven churches (in-
creased to-day to one thousand and fifty-two priests
and three hundred and ten churches) ;^ when the Missionary Society
of St. Paul the Apostle had been in existence only a few years;
when John R. Brady, the first Catholic elected to the Supreme Court,
was still reflecting credit on the bench; when there were no tele-
phones or electric lights ; no trolleys or elevated roads ; no subways
or tunnels ; and the old-time stages were still running on Broadway
and Park Row; when the admirers of Horace Greeley needed not
the statue in front of the Tribune Building to remind them of its
editor, for he was still alive and just then ready to go bail for Jeff
Davis ; when the echoes of the two hundred gun salute, that rever-
berated from Governor's Island signalling the surrender of Lee at
Appomatox on Palm Sunday, had hardly died away; when there
was not a single Catholic magazine published in the United States,
and few other magazines — it was then, just fifty years ago, that
Father Hecker laimched The Catholic World from the upper
floor of 126 Nassau Street, from whose windows one could look out
over City Hall Park, still entirely enclosed in the stockade that had
made it a rendezvous for soldiers and a recruiting station for the
armies of the North.
In April, 1865, when Barclay Street had been made famous by
the Catholic publishers of New York as the greatest producing and
distributing centre in the United States for every kind of Catholic
literature, except a Catholic magazine of commanding influence,
Father Hecker, with a wisdom and foresight and zeal in which
Providence must certainly have had a hand, stepped in to fill the
void.
Patrick J. Kenedy, D. & J. Sadlier, Patrick O'Shea, J.
* Figures for 1865 from Catholic Directory of 1866. Figures of this year from
advance proofs of this year's Directory.
90 REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS [April,
Cunningham, Benziger Brothers, Edward Dunigan, Lawrence Ke-
hoe, and other veteran publishers were turning out large editions of
the Bible, Church histories, school textbooks, books of instruction
and devotion of all kinds, and standard Catholic literature generally.
None of them, however, seemed awake to the fact that a new gen-
eration of Catholic writers and authors had sprung up demanding
recognition, and, though some of the publishers encouraged them,
little thought was given to a monthly as a vehicle for their products.
Viewed from the commercial standpoint the monthly was an un-
promising field. They recalled the fate of early attempts in that
line, such as The Metropolitan and The United States Catholic
Magazine of Baltimore; The National Catholic Register of Phila-
delphia; and The Catholic Expositor and The Young Catholics'
Magazine of New York; all monthlies and all creditable publica-
tions, with editors and contributors of recognized ability, learning
and popularity. None of these made any permanent impression,
and none of them lasted long. The few Catholic weeklies seeking
patronage and circulation had a hard enough task to make ends
meet. Then what chance had a monthly, with an even more
restricted clientele, having to discard ordinary church news, and
appealing with its higher literary tone to the better educated and
more cultivated readers, and not to the great body of the Catholic
laity?
Catholic publishers of the immediate post bellum period ad-
mitted that there was a crying need for such a publication, and
recognized that with the close of the war and the advent of peace
prosperity would come, but they hesitated to enter the hitherto pre-
carious field of monthly journalism, content to follow up and de-
velop the less hazardous, more certain and more remunerative, be-
cause better established, lines in which they were then engaged.
The Catholic monthly magazine, accordingly, was waiting for
the man. The commercial side must be his least consideration. He
must equal or surpass, in all the requirements of ability, learning
and zeal, those who had gone before him, and, while blazing the way,
had failed to leave a record of success. But, besides, he must be a
genius, an enthusiast, with a magnetism and a personality that would
attract the best of the old writers to use new topics and an improved
style, and that would attach to himself and to the cause he repre-
sented a band of hitherto unknown contributors and writers in all
departments of literature, who, under his training and ^idance,
might be filled with a determination, radiating from his own per-
I9IS.] REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS 91
sonality and charm, to turn thought into action along such lines as
he might suggest
Father Isaac Thomas Heckcr was that man. Even a five
minutes talk with Father Hecker left its indelible impress. If the
subject chanced to be, as most likely it would be in those days. The
Catholic World, one left him with a feeling of exhilaration as
though one had generously breathed of particularly fresh air or
quaffed of good wine. His auditor was firmly convinced of the
need and the undoubted success of the proposed Catholic monthly,
and was flattered to think that he might be called upon to help even
in the smallest way.
So, Father Hecker launched The Catholic World with a
beautiful cover design and the double-column page. It was printed
on a superior quality of paper specially manufactured for it at
Whippany, N. J., and its general appearance was equal, if not
superior, to that of the best of the magazines then published. The
early numbers were made up largely of very carefully selected re-
prints from standard foreign publications, but it was not long be-
fore Father Hecker had gathered about him a trained corps of
writers sufficiently strong and numerous enough to furnish the
magazine with an ample supply of original matter.
The first publication rooms were at 126 Nassau Street, where
the offices of The Catholic World occupied one of the upper
floors of the building. Then most of the editorial work of the
magazine was done in the Paulist convent. Father Hecker spent a
large portion of his time in the Nassau Street office. A week
seldom passed without bringing to the magazine a new contributor,
sometimes an experienced one. More often one who had yet to
win his spurs. All received a whole-souled welcome from Father
Hecker, the new candidates particularly. His words of encourage-
ment filled them with some of his own enthusiasm, and a deter-
mination to put forth their best efforts to attain his high ideals in
Catholic literature.
In the beginning articles were unsigned, and in many cases
the secret of the authorship of some of the more important died with
Father Hecker. Conspicuous among the gifted writers whose pro-
ductions established the place of The Catholic World as a com-
manding one were, of course, the Paulist Fathers, including Fathers
Hewit, Walworth, Elliott, Young, Deshon, McMillan, and others,
besides Orestes A. Brownson, John D. Gilmary Shea, Dr. Henry A.
Brann, Bishops Lynch and Spalding, John R. G. Hassard, Col.
92 REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS [April,
James Meline, Miles Gerald Keon (the author of Dion and the
Sibyls), Eliza Starr, Christian Reid, Katharine Tynan, Agnes Rep-
plier, William Seton, Maurice Francis Egan, Dr. Charles G. Heber-
mann. Fathers Mooney and Preston, and others, making up a
literary galaxy never before gathered within the pages of any single
publication.
Father Hecker devoted much of his time to the younger
writers, in the hope of developing a band ready and able to take the
place of the veterans when they would drop out The case of Miss
Tincker was a typical one. At her first interview with Father
Hecker she was unknown to the world of writers. She was a coun-
try woman, and no one ever suspected that it was an untried hand
that wrote Grapes and Thorns and The House of Yorke,
John Rose Greene Hassard was Father Hecker's first associate
editor of The Catholic World, and after holding that position
for five years he resigned to write on musical and dramatic matters
for the New York Tribune, Aside from his splendid ability, the
fact that he was a convert to the Faith made him dear to the founder
of the magazine. Many of its most valuable articles in the early
years were from his pen, and even after severing his intimate con-
nection with The Catholic World his advice and assistance were
always at Father Hecker's disposal. His articles on a variety of
subjects run all through the early numbers, and his contributions
continued until his death.
Once, when the newspapers and the denominational ministers
began to accuse Catholics of receiving huge sums of money from
the city of New York to build and equip their charitable institutions,
Mr. Hassard, at the suggestion of Father Hecker, presented the
actual facts to the reading public. He was well aware that the
Protestant denominations received stuns of money from the city
for the maintenance of their asylums and reformatories far in ex-
cess of the amount disbursed among Catholic institutions. He
knew, also, that the public money paid a large share of the expenses
of the schools conducted by the Children's Aid Society and by the
American Female Guardian Society. He secured from the Comp-
troller of the city of New York copies of all accounts showing the
amounts of money distributed among the Catholic religious and so-
called non-sectarian institutions, and it took an accountant two weeks
to transcribe them from the records. Mr. Hassard wrote two articles
for The Catholic World, in which he proved that the Catholic in-
stitutions received but a very small portion of the whole disburse-
IQIS.] REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS 93
ment, and that what they did receive was money paid for the support
of children committed by the courts. These articles were printed in
pamphlet form for general distribution. Since then no one has
had the temerity to assert that Catholic institutions received more
than their just share of the public money for children who would
otherwise be a direct burden on the city.
Mr. Hassard also inaugiu-ated a series of articles for The
Catholic World the like of which had never appeared in an
American publication. They were called " Book Talks." He pro-
cured copies of such notable books as he desired to criticize, and he
reviewed them with such brilliancy and impartiality that the office
was deluged with books by the publishers in the hope that they would
be submitted to the unnamed critic for review. All these books
were returned with a statement that the author of " Book Talks "
had a free rein in the selection of his own books, which he pur-
chased from the booksellers in the regular way. It was while en-
gaged in this work that his health failed, and he was obliged to give
up this line of work, which was to him a most congenial occupa-
tion. The " Book Talks " department was continued by Maurice
Francis Egan, now Minister to Denmark, and he afterwards col-
lected his contributions and made them the basis of a book on liter-
ature.
To show Mr. Hassard's versatility in other departments not
strictly literary and journalistic, it may be stated that while on the
Tribune, and after the political campaign of 1876, Whitelaw Reid
placed the famous cipher dispatches in his hands, with a request that
he make an attempt at deciphering them. He accomplished the task
in a week, although the ablest men in the country had failed. He
wrote an article on cipher codes for The Catholic World that at-
tracted much attention, in which he stated that it was impossible
to invent a code that could not be deciphered.
Mr. Hassard's History of the United States is well known,
as it revolutionized the school histories of the country.
John McCarthy was another of the associate-editors, and he
was responsible for a number of the articles written on Great
Britain. These foreign articles had a great vogue for a time.
While connected with the magazine he also wrote a History of the
World, which met with much praise.
Thomas F. de Burgh Galwey succeeded Mr. McCarthy on The
Catholic World as associate-editor, and devoted some of his spare
time to a translation of Deharbe's Catechism, No. 2. This famous
94 REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS [April,
catechism first appeared in America under the name of Pander's
Catechism, and was favorably received. Rt. Rev. Patrick N. Lynch
of Charleston revised it so successfully that it is now the standard
for instruction in Christian Doctrine throughout the United States.
It ranks, however, as a high school textbook, and Mr. Galwey pre-
pared a shorter form to be used in the parochial schools as a prep-
aration for the study of the larger book. The latest and best
edition of Deharbe is that edited by Thomas McMillan, C.S.P.,
and James J. Pox, D.D.
The influence of The Catholic World in the cause of the
Church, even in its early days, was never better exemplified than in
the result of a powerful article entitled An Uncivil Journal, This
was aimed at Harper's Weekly, then a rabid, anti-Catholic publica-
tion, and it was intended as the first of a series to compel Harpe/s
to discontinue its abusive articles from the pen of Eugene Lawrence.
This single article proved to be more than enough, for Lawrence
subsided and the abuse of Harper's ceased. The article An Uncivil
Journal, was written by Col. James Meline, and this is the story of
its writing:
Shortly after the war Harper Brothers made an effort to in-
crease the sale of their school books in this city. They employed
a popular school principal to this end, and his plan of work met with
great success. But the rival publishers protested. They made good
use of the knowledge they had of Harper's secret school agent.
Harper^ s Weekly was then engaged in a furious attack on the Tweed
ring, the rival publishers combined with the. politicians, and the re-
sult was that Harper's books were driven out of the schools.
Now no one with any authority to speak for the Catholic Church
had anything to do with the movement that brought disaster to the
Harpers, yet in spite of this fact Harper's Weekly began a scathing
attack on the Pope and everything Catholic. * Eugene Lawrence,
who was a master at mixing invective with abuse, wrote these
articles, filled with the vilest charges and calumnies. He accused
the Catholics of the United States of disloyalty and treason.
Pather Hecker at once took up the matter. He remembered
that in i860 this same Harpe/s Weekly had grossly abused Presi-
dent Lincoln, had caricatured and ridiculed him and other leaders
of the Republican Party, and that its attacks continued until it be-
came evident that the coming Civil War would destroy all its sales
in the Southern States. Pather Hecker believed that as the Harpers
accused their neighbors of treason and disloyalty, they themselves
1915.] REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS 95
should have an unblemished record for patriotism. The case was
entrusted to Col. James Meline, and his first step was to secure a
volume of Harpers Weekly containing the issues of the fall and
winter of i860. Search was made in every library in the city with-
out avail, and it was found that that particular volume had disap-
peared from all collections of books then accessible to the public
John Gilmary Shea came into the office of The Catholic World
while the search was in progress, and when told of the trouble said in
his high falsetto : " Til bring you that volume of Harper's to-mor-
row." Thousands had bought Harper's in i860, but Dr. Shea
seemed to be the only one wise enough to preserve his copies. From
the ammunition this volume furnished. Col. Meline paid his respects
to Eugene Lawrence and Harper's by means of the deadly parallel
and with speedy and effective results. Harper's no longer abused
Catholics.
Col. Meline also took up the cudgels for Mary Queen of Scots,
whose character was attacked by James Anthony Froude, with a
literary ability that dazzled his readers. When Col. Meline finished
his attack Froude was demolished.
Another of the well-equipped veteran writers of the early days
was Col. James McGee, brother of Thomas D'Arcy McGee, who
saw active service during the war, and who resumed his literary
work in New York on the coming of peace. He called at the office
one afternoon in the absence of Father Hecker, bringing with him
an article on Irish affairs for publication. He entrusted the manu-
script to Lawrence Kehoe, who forwarded it to Father Hecker.
When Col. McGee next called, he received a note accepting the
article, on the proviso that he would write a series on Irish topics.
He went to work, and his articles on the Irish question culminated
in Gladstone's Home Rule Bill for Ireland. Col. McGee continued
to contribute to The Catholic World until his death. At that time
Father Hecker had completed arrangements with D'Arcy McGee for
a series of articles, the first of which was then in type and ready
for publication. They would have given to the readers of the
magazine the results of the ripe experience of one who had taken an
active part in movements affecting the progress of the Catholic
Church in America from the time of the first Know-Nothing out-
break, had not a telegram to Father Hecker from Ottawa announced
the news of D'Arcy McGee's assassination. Father Hecker mourned
for the fallen hero because of their personal friendship, and because
The Catholic World had lost a valuable contributor.
96 REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS [April,
When the editorial work became so exacting that Father
Hecker found it necessary to increase the staff, Mr. Hoyt took
charge of the down-town office. He had been a clergyman, and
after his conversion to the Faith became an enthusiastic follower
of Father Hecker, and remained in the editorial department for
some time. In the meantime he prepared for the priesthood and was
ordained. He was an exemplary priest and a cultured gentleman,
and he went to his reward after years of parish work.
The time never came in the down-town office when a visit from
Father Hecker was not to be expected, and on these occasions when
he received a notable article from one of his favorite contributors —
and he always kept up his personal correspondence with them— it was
his custom to read it aloud to those who happened to be present. On
one occasion when he was preparing one of the numbers of the
magazine during the centennial year, he received from Aubrey de
Vere copy of a poem or centennial ode he had asked for, and which
he suggested should glorify the cause of American Independence.
This he read aloud with his perfect enunciation and emphasis, and
all were charmed with its beauty. Later, on its publication, it was
found to bear comparison with the best efforts of the American poets
on the same theme.
As years passed. Father Hecker found it more and more diffi-
cult to spend the necessary hours in the editorial room. His
energies were directed to the larger questions affecting the Church.
He went to Rome to attend the Vatican Council, and from the Holy
City he forwarded to The Catholic World a ntimber of famous
articles summarizing the transactions of that august body.
Though John Boyle O'Reilly, afterwards the famous editor of
the Boston Pilot, was counted among the early contributors, he
did not make a permanent stay in New York on his arrival in 1869,
after his escape from an English prison in Australia, but he owed
the first money he earned in America to the kindly offices of The
Catholic World^s associate editor, Mr. Hassard, who secured the
publication in the Tribune of his famous poem, The Chase of the
Amber Whale. Not finding a convenient opening in New York he
went to Boston, where he became eminent in the literary and social
life of that city, and the associate of Archbishop Williams in the
publication of The Pilot, and co-proprietor with him of that paper
until his death in 1890.
One of the old associate editors was Mr. Arnold, who was
particularly strong on punctuation and paragraphing. However,
1915] REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS 97
as most of the leading articles were prepared for publication in the
Paulists' convent, their authors escaped the tyrannous blue pencil
of the down-town editor, whose domain was restricted to the War-
ren Street office.
Illustrating Father Hecker's happy faculty of enlisting writers
of ability in special lines of work, was his capture as a contributor
of Dr. O'teary, Professor of Literature in Manhattan College, on
the occasion of a chance visit of the latter to the office. It resulted
in a series of articles on the Darwinian question, all of which were
well received.
Louis Binsse was a prolific writer on a variety of topics, his
favorite subjects being the prisons of France, and the charities
and charitable work in the prisons of New York. Under Mr. Mc-
Carthy's regime Mr. Robinson wrote sketches on My Trip to Mexico,
remarkable for their clearness and sustained interest. His son was
later the superior of one of the religious orders in England. It was
at the office of The Catholic World that the daughter of the Earl
of Dunraven wrote her celebrated Letters of an Irishwoman to Her
Sister. Robert T. Rea, an old time proofreader, found his way
into the Church through reading copy for the magazine. Hardly
a week passed without a visit or a contribution from William Lum-
mis, always cautious of speech and diffident of manner; or from
Zachariah Halpin, whose general good humor never failed to win
adherents to his all-pervading optimism.
From the earliest days Henry Livingston Richards was a
regular contributor. His friendship for Father Hecker made him
a companion in the founder's pilgrimages to distant cities, a coim-
sellor on questions that stirred his soul, and a comforter when mis-
understandings brought grief to his heart His practical good sense
straightened out many a snarl, and his charity never permitted his
pen to write a harsh word of criticism.
One of the early writers was Rev. John Talbot Smith, young
then to be sure, but the literary excellence of whose early work still
charms readers young and old. Mr. Girard, editor of the old
Graphic, New York's first illustrated daily, was a contributor who
took a world view of political affairs, and who, with William Seton,
John McCarthy, Mrs. Starr, Mrs. William Tecumseh Sherman,
General John Newton, and General William Starke Rosecrans, and
many other callers and contributors, kept the editor well informed
on mooted subjects to be treated in the pages of The Catholic
World.
VOL. a.—^
98 REMINISCENCES OF EARLY DAYS [April,
Edward D. Farrell was a member of the staff in 1868, and as a
confidential attache his services were invaluable on many occasions.
Later he entered the educational field, and retired as district super-
intendent of schools.
The circulation of The Catholic World was one of Father
Hecker's least cares. He always contended that the time had
arrived when a Catholic monthly magazine on the lines laid down
for The Catholic World, and which he made it his special duty
to see carried out to the letter, would become a permanent and pros-
perous institution. The result justified the accuracy of his judg-
ment in this respect, for the circulation increased rapidly not only in
the metropolitan district, but throughout the United States and
abroad. A special edition had to be printed for Bums & Oates of
London, and the general news dealers throughout the country soon
came to demand a liberal supply from the American News Company.
To meet these demands, in addition to the regular mail subscribers,
required a monthly edition of ten thousand copies as early as 1869,
and it must be remembered that the annual subscription price
at that time was five dollars.
This circulation was reached without any of the modem
methods of advertising or " acceleration/' and largely on the in-
trinsic merits of the magazine, which took its commanding position
in the literary world, and attained a success that has endured for
fifty years, and has never been equalled.
LITERATURE AND LIFE.
BY FATHER CUTHBERT, O.S.F.C.
|0 say that literature depends for its quality upon life
itself, is one of those truisms which have something
of the dignity of a first principle. No people have
ever produced really good, enduring literary writing
save when their soul has been alive with strong
purpose or elated with high achievement, or when they are stretch-
ing out towards some yet unrealized ideal. On the other hand,
when a people's soul is nerveless and lacking in moral or spiritual
energy, their decadence will be reflected in the books they read and
the songs they sing. There is no truer index to a man's inmost
soul than the books in which he delights or finds his solace.
But whilst many will acknowledge this truth in general terms,
there are yet comparatively few who are awake to the enormous
moral power exerted over men's lives by what is properly termed
literature, as distinct from mere writing. For literature is some-
thing more than the cataloguing of one's thoughts : it is the living
utterance of the soul caught up into the emotion which some visioned
truth excites in the soul of the seer; and it expresses and diffuses
that emotion together with the truth it utters; it acts upon the
imagination as well as upon the logical reason ; it speaks to the heart
as well as to the brain. That is where its unique power for good
or evil comes in : it not only directs the intelligence, but at the same
time it stirs the passions and affections which are the immediate
moral agents in the fashioning of men's lives ; and for this reason
it wields a subtle and persuasive influence not only in the formation
of men's minds, but even more so in* the formation of character.
Indeed the ultimate value of a literary work is not so much in the
subject it treats aboiit, in its ideas or dogmatic teaching, as in the
attitude of soul with which it approaches its subject ; in its general
outlook on life itself; and in the moral and spiritual quality which
pervades it. It is this which leaves its mark on the mind of the
reader, and forms or deforms his soul.
Now this is a fact which peculiarly concerns us Catholics at the
present time ; for at no time, perhaps, were men more influenced by
the written word than they are now. Whether we are concerned to
bring home to the world at large th^ truth and beauty of Catholic
100 LITERATURE AND LIFE [April,
teaching, or whether we would foster the Catholic life amongst those
who acknowledge the guidance of our Catholic Faith, we cannot
afford to ignore the immense power of strong and noble literature
to win the allegiance of men to the cause we have at heart.
At the outset it is needful to recognize frankly the moral harm
done by literature which is weak in intelligent understanding of
the actual experiences of life or in personal conviction ; the literature
which plays with mere fancies or borrowed sentiment. Nothing
is ulthnately more harmful to men's characters, or more productive
of moral and spiritual weaklings ; and it is not of such sort of men
that the Church is built up in spiritual vigor, or the Faith rendered
beauteous in the eyes of the world. All literature to be morally
wholesome must be strong; it must be created in the vision and by
the judgment of a heart which has looked into the face of its own
experience with steady gaze, and brings that experience to the aid
of its judgment of men and things. No literature has ever vitally
moved the world which does not manifest this note of heart-search-
ing experience. A man must have battled with the problem of his
own soul; he must have weighed the truth that he utters in the
scales of his own experience, and issued forth with a personal
conviction of the truth, if his utterance is to read those deeper
depths of other men's souls where lie the springs of true emotion
and vigorous action. It is just this underlying personal experience
which makes his utterance forceful and stimulating in its action
upon the souls of other men. But the writer who gathers his
emotion, not from personal experience and conviction, but from
some clinging sentiment which adheres to a word or institution or
idea; who accepts the word or institution or idea because of
impersonal sentiment, rather than the sentiment because of the
thing to which it is attached — such a writer, though he may stir
the surface of men's souls with pleasurable sensation or unpleasur-
able, will bring no true conviction. It need hardly be pointed out
how literature of this sort not only does not strengthen the mental
and moral character, but positively tends to weaken both ; no matter
what his subject may be, whether religious or secular, a plea for
godliness or ungodliness. Even a treatise on the love of God,
if it lacks the conviction which comes from real, not fanciful,
experience, is apt to cause spiritual harm, inasmuch as it will satisfy
the craving for emotion, whilst leaving the source of true and
healthful emotion untouched. In consequence God is made a mere
idol of superficial sentiment instead of the living fulfillment of
human nature's deepest need and desire; and should the heart
1915.] LITERATURE ANp{l^IFE loi
at length awaken to its real longing, and-'ej^perience its true need,
the idol of unreal sentiment will fall and the 'soa:iJ /ind itself without
God; or worse, will turn against God Whom iti?iis bound up with
its false sentiment. And in truth it is to religious iit^rature of this
kind, that many a man has owed his loss of faith ariy-"piety. Far
better would it be to have no religious literature at a'U-'than this
which saps away the very foundation of spirituality. The.dltimate
injury would be less, both to the individual and the Church at-lsp^e;
for such literature does but devitalize the spiritual energies. ';.%.'•
But if weak religious literature is harmful, so too is wdalj:
secular literature : since all literature has a moral effect either f or .
the upbuilding or destro)ring of character. Parents and teachers
are oftentimes careful to keep from the young books which mani-
festly inculcate immoral or irreligious principles, whilst with an
easy conscience they encourage the reading of books which, in their
ultimate and cumulative effect upon character, are hardly less in-
jurious. Take the majority of the novels which are thus put into
the hands of young men and women. In the radical insincerity
of their sentiment and their lack of moral conviction, they are
far more harmful to the souls of the young than many a novel
which the respectable or pious parent taboos. They do not present
problems which alarm the parent, but they do educate the young
man and girl in habits of insincerity, feeding their minds upon
unreal emotion, and deadening the capacity to think truly and to
look for life's deeper realities. A generation whose mind is thus
fashioned can have no moral stamina. It is not to such human
material that the holiest Faith can look to bear compelling witness
to its life-giving Truth.
On the other hand, literature of the nobler sort, whether it
be professedly religious or secular, has always an invigorating
moral effect. Even if it does but teach a man to look with sincere
mind upon the commonest things of the earth, there is a distinct
gain in essential truthfulness. But the greater literature never
does stop short at the world outside a man ; it always reveals the
soul which is in man, and the deeper life of the world with which
man's soul is akin. To every true literary writer and not merely to
the poet, the world which meets the eye is the domain or battle ground
of spiritual forces. He may marshal his facts like a mathematician,
but behind the visible facts he sees some moral or spiritual force; and
it is the consciousness of this force which evokes the emotion through
which literature acts upon the world. Hence, no matter what his
subject may be, whether it be drawn from human life or inanimate}
102 LITSRATURE AND LIFE [April,
from life's tragedy ot*corhedy, from the laws of reason or the dark
ways of instinct,. ihiC'. true literary artist speaks directly to the
human soul, leadtog^- it to a wider knowledge of itself and of its
relation to tb^, external world: he sets the human spirit working
and evoke*, k "larger personal consciousness. On the old scholastic
principle, thkt it is better to be than not to be, all true literature
may.be'^id to benefit a man, inasmuch as it tends to make him
mpf^.\' msLTi. The literary artist may indeed work immediate
hffluriiiif, whilst he arouses men to conscious eflfort, he directs his
.'desire towards the attainment of what contravenes the divine pur-
pose as revealed in conscience and Faith; and when he does this,
the greater the literary merit of his work, the more subtly does it
instill its poison. But in this case the evil comes not from the
perception of the facts or experience, as from the deliberate deduc-
tions which the writer draws from the felt experience. These
deductions may be false and mischievous, whilst the essential expe-
rience is true. Here it is possible for a literary work to be at once
the utterance of true spiritual experience, and yet morally false in
so far as the writer sets himself to build up a theory upon the basis
of his experience.
But there is one thing about the greater literature, even when
it is harmful, which makes it in the long run morally preferable
to literature of the weaker sort. The greater literature, just because
it leads a man to a consciousness of the elemental realities of life,
in some measure supplies the antidote to its own poison. It devel-
opes intelligence whilst arousing emotion; and in forcing men to
look at vital issues intelligently, its own actual conclusions sooner
or later are brought to judgment before the tribunal itself has
evoked. And if, in the meanwhile, the awakened intelligence finds
truer guidance in the solving of the problems to be faced, the prob-
ability is either that no harm will be done or that it will ultimately
be remedied. The harmful influence of weak literature is more
difficult to combat or remedy, since it deadens the intelligence and
makes a man a mere creature of excited sensation ; and as long as
the sensation is pleasurable, the victim will not readily listen to
reason. The difficulty arises from the fact that the man habituated
to mere sentiment, loses the power of real self -activity, and in the
widest sense is demoralized.
Now it is unhappily the fact that of the multitude of books,
whether professedly secular or religious, which are year by year put
forth, by far the greater number either have no literary merit at all,
or else go to swell tjie flood of literature of mere sentiment. At th^
1915.] LITERATURE AND LIFE ' 103
same time, amongst books of real literary quality, the greater number
are written either with the professed purpose of challenging the
traditional Christian beliefs and code of conduct or in ignorance of
Catholic teaching. The results are that there has been a weaken-
ing of character amongst the reading public at large ; whilst amongst
those who are attracted to stronger mental fare, there has been a
widespread revolt against the hitherto accepted Christian life. This
is a fact Catholics have need to recognize frankly and to remedy.
Without a strong" and high Catholic literature, the beauty and con-
vincingness of Catholicism will never receive its just mead of ap-
preciation; either amongst the body of Catholics themselves or in
the outside world ; and we shall never be able to combat successfully
the anti-Christian propaganda which animates so much of the liter-
ary efforts of to-day. If the Catholic Faith, with its inspiring
ideals, is to win over the reading world — ^and to-day we have to deal
with a reading world — it must be presented in language alive with
the living genius of that which it would set forth, and which bears
the hall-mark of inspiration of noble truth sincerely felt. Then only
will it be really convincing and captivating. And surely if any-
where inspiration might be found for the noblest literature, it is in
the ideals of the Catholic Church.
Nor is it merely for the purpose of winning the outside world
to recognize the Catholic claim to truth and beauty that we need
a strong literature to-day : it is equally necessary for the fostering
of the Catholic life of those within the Church to draw out their
enthusiasm and awaken their understanding and enkindle a love
of things Catholic. Too great a proportion of our Catholic books
at the present time leave the imagination and the deeper emotion un-
touched, and consequently fail to present that beauty of truth which
stirs the heart and compels a willing and joyous service. Indeed it is
to be feared that the lack of literary quality in Catholic writings
meant for popular reading, has not infrequently been encouraged on
the ground that what the mass of our people want is not " literary "
writing, but " simple, homely books." But this plea either is based
upon a misunderstanding of the requirements of true literature, or
else is a more or less conscious pandering to the fallacy that the mass
of men are devoid of feeling for the beauty of truth, which it is the
office of true literary writing to convey. Hans Andersen's fairy
tales are not the less true literature because they are the delight of
children. A book may be simple and homely, and yet suffused with
the mystic light in which the beauty of truth is conveyed to the soul
of the reader. Let it be remembered that true literary quality de-
104 LITERATURE AND LIFE [April,
pends primarily upon moral and spiritual conditions in the soul of
the writer, rather than upon a cultivated style of words, though this
too IS not to be despised. The body should as far as possible reflect
the living soul ; yet it is the living soul which mostly matters. A
book may be crude in style; yet if it is the utterance of an animated
soul, it is preferable, even artistically, to a work of perfect outward
style which lacks the animated soul. Many a literary work of im-
perfect style lives and is cherished for its inspiring quality, whilst
more perfect works of style are rightly cast into the lumber room.
It is perhaps just because so many people have failed to recognize the
moral quality in true literature, that they have depreciated its value
in the moral and spiritual upbuilding of men's souls.
It may then be well to consider what are the moral qualities
which make literature really inspiring and powerful.
The first condition is merely that the writer have a real, per-
sonal, living faith in the message he wishes to convey to the reader.
High literature is always at base a confession of faith, and never a
mere expression of opinion or an array of argument or a retailing of
gossip. When the Norse poets sang their sagas they were uttering
the faith which was in them — ^their faith in the hardy valor which
was at once to them the joy and glory of life. It is Shakespeare's
robust worship of human life under all its natural manifestations
which is at the root of his imperishable genius. Thomas Carlyle
would never have attained true literary power but for his firm belief
in the supreme nobility of life as exhibited in the man strong to act
and to endure. C)micism has never yet produced healthful litera-
ture; nor has the cynic produced any enduring literature except
when, as in the case of Thomas Carlyle, the cynicism has a back-
ground of strong faith, and is itself an expression of the under-
lying faith. In fact, the writings of the c)mics themselves go to
prove that the literature which is strong to influence the world's
thought, is the product of a faith in something. Voltaire and the
prophets of the French Revolution would have beaten against the
Christian ideals with little effect had not their attacks been weighted
with a faith in their own ideal of human freedom, more fervent and
vital than the faith in Christianity of their opponents. And this is to
be remembered : real faith — the faith which wins battles — is never
entirely in error, since it is always allied with some true instinct of
human nature or with some vital perception of the heart ; and in that
it differs from mere intellectual opinion with which it is sometimes
unthinkingly confused. The mental deductions may be altogether
false; the theories built upon the felt experience may be utter
ipiS-] LITERATURE AND LIFE 105
foolishness; but the faith that makes men strong to win over the
hearts of men is never wholly false. It is in virtue of the element
of truth that lies in his faith that a man's writing continues as a liv-
ing force. The deeper and more fundamental the truth to which
his faith clings, the more powerful and enduring is his influence
upon the lives of men : provided, also, that the other moral elements
of literary power are present.
Literature in fact is bom in the heart's acceptance of some
moral or spiritual truth as a beauteous mystery, in the vision of
which it lives and works. Take away the mystery, and the reader's
spirit flags, since it is the delight in the unfolding vision of that which
his faith holds which urges him onward. He must feel himself
in the presence of something beyond himself, and yet which is his
possession by faith in it, before he can give forth a true literary
utterance. For that reason pure rationalism cannot produce high
literature. A logical treatise may be suffused with literary feeling;
but what gives the literary quality is some faith to which the logical
reasoning is subservient in the writer's soul : and it is by the fer-
vency of this faith, and not by its logic, that such a treatise finally
forces the conviction of the heart and stirs it to moral and spiritual
activity.
A second condition of high literature is sincerity. No man
has ever yet produced what the world continues to hold as whole-
some literature, except in so far as he has really meant what he has
uttered, speaking with the conviction of the heart. A man may
write a book which, judged intellectually, is clever, and as to style
is fashioned with a sense of literary form; but if his work is lacking
in sincerity, it is more properly ranked with the conjuror's tricks
than with the living creations of the soul. Such works may for a
time fascinate, but they leave no constructive thought behind them
and no real conviction. We have suffered much from this sort of
literary product, and its widespread acceptance as high literature
is a sign of the moral instability of our social life, and of the lack
of creative ideals in our intellectual life. The secular world of to-
day has been largely educated upon mockery which laughed at its
own solemn asser\'ations, whilst, yet more recently, it has come un-
der the sway of a literature which parades a solicitous respectability
with its tongue in its cheek. The real worth of such work will be
apparent when the indifference of a saner generation casts it aside
with contempt. But insincerity is not always as s^lf -conscious as
in the writings here referred to. There is, for example, the re-
ligious book written for " edification," in which the writer utters
io6 LITERATURE AND LIFE [April,
the conventional sentiments which he deems proper to his subject,
without that real conviction of their truth which depends upon per-
sonal experience. The wish " to edify," it is to be feared, proves
not infrequently a snare to writers on religious subjects, and ac-
counts for much of the spiritual inanity, as well as for the poor
literary quality, of not a small number of our religious works. A
man's writing, if it is to have force, must express truthfully his own
personal conviction. The writer may laugh over his subject, but it
must be a wholesome laughter which leaves the heart honest; he
may indulge in sentiment, but the sentiment must ring true ; he may
retail the thoughts of other men, but he must first make them his
own; otherwise the deeper personal conscience of his readers will
convict him of falsehood, and judge him and his work shallow or
untrue ; and with such a conviction his power to convince is gone.
A man must utter his faith in all sincerity, if his work is to have
that moral power which is the ultimate test of true literary utter-
ance.
But whilst it is true that the inspiration of literary work comes
from the writer's faith, the inspiration becomes effective only in so
far as it calls forth the affective emotions. All true literature is
born of the soul's passion : it springs forth out of some intimate de-
light or sorrow. A man must love or hate, worship or be alive
with condemnation, before he can produce a work which will rank
amongst the vital things of human utterance. Not that mere pas-
sion will give birth to literary work: the passion must first pass
through the reflecting intellect, and be brought under the sway of the
moral judgment, before it can properly enter into a man's work;
yet without passion his writing will remain mere writing, and fail
to attain to the dignity and power of literature. For it is primarily
through the emotion which invests his utterance, that the writer
reaches the heart of the reader, and communicates the faith which
is in himself. Emotion is thus the vehicle of his inspiration. Yet
it is well to remember that the emotion which enters into true literary
work must be the emotion of the spirit attuned to a noble faith:
otherwise you have but a debased emotion and a debased literature.
George Eliot, seeking for the compelling power of the Imita-
tion of Christ, found it in the fact that its message *' is the direct
communication of a human soul's belief and experience; " but she
adds : " it was written by a hand that waited for the heart's prompt-
ing: it is the chronicle of a solitary, hidden anguish, struggle, trust
and triumph — not written on velvet cushions to teach endurance to
those who are treading with bleeding feet on tlie stones. And so it
1915.] LITERATURE AND LIFE 107
remains to all time a lasting record of human needs and consola-
tions; the voice of a brother who ages ago, felt and suffered and
renounced." The same might be said of St. Augustine's Confes-
sions; and is it not because we have in these books the utterance
of a strong faith invested with exquisite human emotion, that men
continue to turn to them for spiritual light and comfort? But in
every book that has powerfully moved men to self-knowledge or
action, or has won their appreciation for the higher things of life,
there will be found this same alliance of true emotion with ex-
perience and faith. And this is intelligible if we remember that the
impelling motive of literary writing is not merely to inform the
mind but to win the affections to the truth conveyed. Literature has
not merely to tell the truth ; it must impress the soul of the reader
with a conviction of the beauty of the truth; and to do that it must
touch the imagination and the heart as well as convert the logical
reason; then only does the truth bring with it a sense of that
spiritual freedom for which the human spirit is ever hungering —
and in which it finds its joy.
At the present time it is just this beauty of the Catholic Faith
which, as it seems to many of us, the world is waiting for. The
modem spirit has passed through an acute stage of rationalism in
religion, and finds itself bankrupt of positive spiritual ideals. In its
despair it is turning here and there in search of some ideal
which will pull it out of the slough of despond into which
rationalism has landed it. Some are looking back to cultured pa-
ganism ; others are intent upon a pseudo-mysticism ; some few are
turning their eyes towards Catholicism. But the turning towards
Catholicism would undoubtedly be more widespread were the teach-
ing of the Faith more generally interpreted by a literature which
would convey to the age in which we live, a sense of the moral and
spiritual beauty attaching to the Faith. And upon such a literature
our own lives would grow spiritually stronger and more vital, as did
Catholic life in the too-little known " Ages of Faith " in the early
days of the Church's development. But we must first rid ourselves
of the notion that high.literature is a luxury for the few, and that the
unliterary book and the book of cheap sentiment are good enough for
the moral and spiritual uplifting of the multitude. In that fallacy
lies the root of much weak-kneed Catholicism amongst the younger
generation of Catholics.
O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE.
BY ROSA MULHOLLAND.
XXIX,
UGH was gone, and Brona was in her room on her
knees before the crucifix. "0 happy lot!" These
were the words of the stanza of the poem of the Dark
Night that Hugh was not able to take as applying to
himself. Was he yet to read the riddle? Might he
not discover what was meant by that happy lot, and
make it his own? He was a resolute man, and if he found that he was
called to the faith of the proscribed, he would walk to meet his
worldly ruin. Such ruin would, of course, include that of Morogh
O'Loghlin, but her father's tent was already pitched in heaven, and
she herself was of no account, except in as far as she could minister
to the needs and the comfort of his remaining years. God would
provide a harbor for them. But Hugh Ingoldesby, the young man
with his life to live, the friend who had protected them, was he to lose
everything in the world through his generous sympathy with the
oppressed?
If he had never met her, he would have gone on conscientiously
disbelieving in the creed condemned by his church (if he had a church),
by what he called common sense, and by the State. He was not ac-
countable for invincible ignorance. And, now, might not his irresponsi-
ble attitude change to one of unbelief no longer irresponsible ? A mere
doubt, while effecting his worldly overthrow, might fail to bring him
actual conviction of the truth of the faith that was so difficult to him ?
Thus she would have on one side ruined him, and on the other only
brought him into danger.
Tortured by these thoughts, Brona felt that the cup of her sorrow
was indeed filled to the brim. The peace and sweetness preached by
the Saint of the Cross, out of his own experience, was far from her.
At the moment the Living Flame seemed to give her no light, and the
shadows of the dark night were upon her. Memory brought to her
mind familiar words of the Saint of which she had tried to make a
motto for her life.
My soul is detached
From everything created,
And raised above itself
Into a life delicious,
IQIS-I O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE 109
Of God alone supported.
And therefore I will say.
That what I most esteem
Is that my soul is now
Without support, and with support.
All that had been done in her soul seemed now undone. Could
she say,
God alone and I
God alone in my spirit to enlighten it,
God alone in my acts to sanctify them,
God alone in my heart to possess it
Turning over the pages of the book, looking for some help,
she fastened on the Saint's explanation of the words " in darkness and
concealment," a line in one of the poems which had fascinated Hugh,
and she tried to apply the lesson to her own heart in the silent suflfering
which her tongue could confide to no one.
" When God visits the soul Himself the words of the stanza are
then true, for in perfect darkness, hidden from the enemy, it receives
at such times the spiritual graces of God A work wrought in the
dark, in the hiding place, wherein the soul is confirmed more and more
by love ; and therefore the soul sings
In darkness and concealment
Had the promised grace been now denied her, so that her faith
seemed gone? And had she in darkness and concealment been only
working the undoing of the man who loved her? She had prayed for
him, and was his uncertainty of mind the answer to her prayers? Was
she now doubting God Who had heard her prayers, as though He were
some malign spirit hearing them awry and answering them with cruelty ?
In the anguish of his temptation she wept tears, prostrate with her face
to the earth.
All that day and night she prayed. Ought she to urge this man
to talk to Father Aengus? Might not the saintly spirit of the Father
rush on too fast to a conclusion and hurry the soul, dazed with new
light, over a precipice unperceived by counsellor and counselled? A
mere fascinating doubt, an imperfect eflFort at faith, ending in harder
unbelief, was after all the worst thing her imagination dreaded.
Would Father Aengus, wrapped in his own light, see nothing of this
danger of darkness? After a hard struggle, she felt impelled to go
to Father Aengus in his cell and put the case of Hugh, as she saw it,
before him. A smile lit the friar's pallid face when she confessed her
dread of his too-urgent zeal for the cause of his divine Master.
" Have no fear, my child," he said. " Neither you nor T must
no 0' LOCH LIN OF CLARE [April,
press this soul. We will pray, and leave the answer to the judgment
of God, to Whom every soul is known with its needs. Who knows His
own requirements of each, and His designs for it as we could never
guess them. God will send this man to me if it be good for him to
come to me. He must seek me of his own impulse, being divinely
impelled."
Then the terror left Brona, and her prayers were once more sweet
with the confidence that had been her joy during many months of the
past, when Hugh appeared to have forgotten her, making himself happy
with other friends, and when she had believed herself separated from
him for ever, except by spiritual links of the forging of God, which
neither time nor distance would ever have power to weaken. Her face
was bright, and her voice and words sweet as she came and went in her
father's sick room. She found him serenely at peace, thanking God
for Ingoldesby's protection, and making no complaint of the blow dealt
him by his unworthy son, the knowledge of whose heartlessness was
draining the life from his own heart. Turlough's name was not
mentioned between them, though a letter from Aideen passed from one
to the other, in which she told of her efforts to find her nephew, and
of'the success which had brought her little comfort.
XXX.
As the summer approached and advanced, Ingoldesby continued in
the way of life he had marked out for himself, busy with improve-
ments on his estate, such as required long rides and the thinking out
of plans, with the interviewing of experienced workers necessary for
the realizing of his own tentative ideas. A visit to Castle O'Loghlin
often filled the afternoon. Morogh was now able to come down to
the library, and sat in his old chair by his writing table at the window
overlooking the sea, appearing not so much like the shadow of himself
as like the spirit within him, made more visible by the wasting of its
material wrappings. Brona was always found near him, to read or to
talk as he might desire. Hugh never saw her alone, and he had no
opportunity of making further confidences to her. This was as Brona's
resolution had arranged it. Her fear of injuring him was stronger than
her desire to know the working of his mind on certain subjects, of
which he had given her a hint, and which might end either in his
triumph or his undoing.
She longed to know whether the old books found concealed in the
high room of his house had been thrown aside as full of incomprehen-
sible extravagances, or had maintained their fascination, and led him
on by the new light that had shone on him momentarily. Had the
light come again, or had it gone out and left him in a deeper darkness ?
1915.I O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE 11 1
He talked cheerfully to her father about his doings on his lands, in a
manner that caught the old man's attention, and suggested new interests
in life, were it only for an hour. She herself was all alive to these
doings of Ingoldesby, both for his own sake, and for the poor who had
her most tender compassion. Religion was never touched upon, lest
difference of views should lend to dissension, marring to peace and to
that harmony so necessary to Christian charity.
Brona planned her walks at hours when she knew that Hugh's self-
appointed duties had taken him far from home in a quite opposite
direction from the paths she selected for her own rambles. One morn-
ing when she believed him to be at least five miles away, she saw a
figure on horseback coming towards her over the brow of a hill, and
for a moment thought it might be Hugh. Coming nearer, however,
the rider sprang from his horse, and she perceived that it was Colonel
Slaughterhouse who was walking to meet her. He threw his reins to
the servant who followed him, and bade him take the horses to Ard-
curragh, as he intended to see Miss O'Loghlin safely back to Castle
O'Loghlin. Brona shrank from his greetings, but quickly took pains
to conceal her dislike of this man whom she' had last seen on the oc-
casion of his search visit to her father's house, and whose bold notice
of herself had given her anything but pleasure. His manner now was
respectful, if a little too friendly.
" I am delighted to see you. Miss O'Loghlin," he said, " if only
to congratulate you on being safe from such intrusions as that which
first gave me the occasion of making your acquaintance. As you are
now under the protection of Mr. Ingoldesby, I have no longer the
power to annoy you. That I ever had the will to do so, I hope you
will believe — "
" Certainly," said Brona, " I know the law, and that you are bound
by your duty. We have long been accustomed to live in fear of the
law. Even now we live only at the sufferance of a good neighbor. But
it is kind of you to let us know that you wish us well."
"Miss O'Loghlin, I wish more than that," said Slaughterhouse.
" I wish to make your welfare one with my own."
Brona felt a thrill of dread. What did this speech portend ? Was
one danger escaped only that another might be encountered?
" Pray do not be uneasy about us," she said. ** As you say, we
are safe for the present, and my father is enjoying a spell of peace."
"But will it last? " persisted Slaughterhouse. "Ingoldesby is
a good fellow, but human nature is human nature, and after all if he
should change his mind you are at his mercy."
" Even so," said Brona, " but I think he will not change. Mean-
while let us live our lives in some kind of security, even if it be only
short or imaginary."
112 O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE [April,
" I would make it real and lasting," said the Colonel. '^ I am a
blunt soldier, Miss O'Loghlin, " but I must beg you to give me a hear-
ing. Marry me, and I engage that you shall have no further trouble."
" You mean to be very good, Q)lonel Slaughterhouse," said Brona,
" and I am grateful for your thought about me. But what you ask me
to do is impossible. I have promised to remain with my father."
" I will take care of your father, with you, as no other can take
care of him. Ingoldesby means well, but his power is not sufficient.
On several accounts he is likely to fall under suspicion himself."
" I hope not," said Brona. " That would be a sad result of his
protection of us. And you, sir, if protecting the oppressed brings
suspicion on the protector, then why should you subject yourself to
a like misfortune? "
" Mine is a different position from Ingoldesby's. I am employed
and trusted by the authorities. I have friends in power. As my wife
you may keep your own religion without fear of harm to anyone. I
shall be able to arrange for that. Marriage with any other Protestant
would be the ruin of your husband, unless you were to conform within
a year. I should cease to admire you if I thought you could be induced
to forswear your conscience. I can promise you freedom in this as in
every other matter of importance. I have wealth enough to ensure you
indulgence of all the pleasures you have had to forego in this de-
testable country. You shall live anywhere you please."
Brona began to feel a dread of the urgency of the man's manner,
and the masterful haste with which he continued to put before her the
advantages of her consent to his wooing.
" You are very good, but indeed it cannot be," she kept repeating
at each pause in his argument, and began to walk more quickly, hoping
to reach home and escape from him before she lost patience and pro-
voked him to anger by betraying her dislike of him. He showed more
forbearance, however, than she had expected.
" I see I have startled you," he said at last. " I meant to have
approached you more delicately, but, as I have said, I am a blunt
soldier, and the temptation of an unlooked-for opporttmity has been too
much for me. I will not accept your denial now. I beg you to con-
sider all T have said, and at some future time to give me another
hearing. I will now venture to present myself to your excellent father,
merely to congratulate him on his return to health, and on his present
position of some degree of security."
Brona did not dare to refuse the visit to her father, putting his
safety before all feelings of her own, not knowing what evils might be
the consequence of defiance of this man who claimed to have power
which her ignorance could not measure or estimate.
"O good Lord! here's Slaughterhouse! Where's the priest?"
1915] O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE 113
said Thady as he saw his young mistress approaching the house with
her strange escort.
" The Father's in his cell safe enough/' said Mrs. MacCurtin, " and
sure let him come. He can't do harm to us now ; we all belong to In-
goldesbyl"
" O wirra! " said Thady, " it's myself that doesn't believe in e'er
a mother's son o' them all, that would bum the whole of us one by one,
and laugh at the fun of it."
" Go and open the door to him, an' don't be a fool," said Mrs.
MacCurtin, "and look as glad to see him as if he was Michael the
Archangel instead of Satan himself."
Thady obeyed this order to the best of his ability, and that evening
in the servants' quarters told how he had perceived that Slaughter-
house had jaws like a tiger and the eyes of a wolf, which was draw-
ing largely on his imagination, seeing that the Colonel was rather a
fine looking soldier, and that Thady had never seen in the flesh either
wolf or tiger.
The Colonel approached Morogh with an assumption of defer-
ence and sympathy, and was received with such gentlemanly courtesy
as made him feel that his visit was understood to be merely a grace-
ful act expressive of conciliation. Brona gave her father no hint
of his embarrassing proposals to herself. On this, as on many other
disturbing matters, she was bound to be silent, and her father rested
on the belief that the amiability of the formidable Slaughterhouse was
an unexpected and agreeable consequence of the friendship of In-
goldesby.
XXXI.
Hugh continued his study of the books which he had refused to
leave in Brona's keeping, and every night in the still hours before the
dawn, he gave his mind to the fascination exercised over it by the
radiant spirit gone centuries ago from amidst the earth's clQuds and
perplexities. With the first whisper and pipe of birds and gush of
fragrance from waking wild flowers, with the earliest gleam of pale
eastern lights that grew to golden flame, he hegsai to associate such
joys of the soul of man as he had never imagined to exist. Every
time he rose from his reading and pondering, he was as a man different
from the man he had hitherto known himself to be. Of what it meant,
of how anything real was to come of the change, he had no clear per-
ception.
The lights in the east grew to flame, the birds shouted their matins,
the air breathed of flowers from which sunbeams were drinking the
dew. Inanimate nature rejoiced. For him, the man, was no rapture.
VOL. CI.— ^
114 O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE [April,
Nothing but the desire to rest after a strange and unsatisfying vigil.
He wanted another thinking and understanding mind with which to
discuss his growing impression of knowledge to come, of light destined
to intensify, revealing to him things that he had never yet seen. He
could not talk to Brona, as he never found her alone. He began to
suspect that she was trying to protect him from himself, and the thought
sounded an alarm to his courage. The suggestion that a talk with
Father Aengus would help him was rejected several times before he
decided to act on it. But at last one day he said to Brona :
" Could I be permitted to see the Father in his cell ? I should be
glad to have a little conversation with him, and there is no other way.
Will he trust me?"
" He will trust you. He is there now," said Brona. ** Shall I
speak to him? "
The Father's response to the request was a warm invitation.
Hugh was led by Brona, by the secret stairs and passages that led
to the little dungeon where the humble Franciscan lived with his God.
He found him writing at a small table on which were some books and
a crucifix. At sight of the spare brown figure and the pallid face,
Hugh remembered vividly his encounter with this man in the bog, and
felt wonder and remorse sting and touch him keenly. With a passing
thrill of amazement at his own conduct, Ingoldesby stood with bent
head as Brona left and closed the door on him.
" You are welcome, Mr. Ingoldesby," said the friar. " Not. every-
one would care to pay a visit to this dark little den."
" You believe it is a friendly visit? " said Hugh. " I am anxious
to make you feel that I am worthy of your brave trust. Not every
man would have courage to receive me here considering all the cir-
cumstances."
" Have I not every reason for such trust?" said Father Aengus.
" You are the saviour of this family from misfortune which they do
not deserve. As for me I am nothing but a casual, a tramp in the
service of God. I live only to help others. If I can help you in any
way, or in any degree, let me know how to do it."
" I will go to the point at once," said Hugh. " I have come across
these books by accident, and have been reading them. I would like to
talk to you about them. Will you tell me what kind of a man he was
who wrote them? Was he a mere poet and dreamer, or did he do
anything of service to the world ? "
" He was certainly no useless dreamer ; he did very noble service
to the world of his days, service for the lasting benefit of the world of
all days. He was a man of active life and practical abilities, in-
dustrious, energetic in business, shrewd, prudent and courageous. To
form an idea of his character you should study all his writings — these
1915] 0' LOG HUN OF CLARE 115
books are only a part of them. You will find him neither a dreamer of
fantastic dreams, nor a stem taskmaster, but a saint with a passionate
love of his God, and, for God's sake, of his neighbor ; besides being, as
I have said, a man of eminent common sense, whose life was full of
useful and very practical woric."
"How can I get these other writings?" asked Hugh. " I am
greatly attracted by his luminous thought. It impresses me with a
power which no mere poet ever exerted over me. The noblest specula-
tions of pagan philosophy, and the deepest wisdom of the Scriptures,
have evidently fed his lofty mind. It amazes me that he should have
been also a worker in practical affairs."
" Ah, yes," said the friar, " the world has a false conception of the
mind of a saint, who may be at once poet and philosopher, religious and
contemplative, yet fit for the ordinary duties of life, and in full pos-
session of practical and social virtue and capacity."
" I confess I have known nothing of the saints," said Ingoldesby.
'' A mind such as the mind of this man attracts my admiration. That
is all. I would like to see deeper into it."
" I can lend you his books," said Father Aengus, " if you venture
to have them in your house."
" I think I am above suspicion," said Hugh, " and may be allowed
as a well-rooted Protestant to read what I please. And about the other
saints of whom I have not the slightest knowledge, except as I have
seen them in church windows, or in the paintings of the old masters
prized for the sake of art, can you afford me also a little insight into
the meanings of their strange lives and teachings ? "
" St. Thomas Aquinas for instance," said the priest. " St. Augus-
tine?"
" These I know by name and I possess a volume of each, unread.
I would be glad to begin with them," said Ingoldesby.
" Here are more to begin with. But remember I have not pressed
them on you, nor have I invited you here. I have laid no plot to lead
you to my own way of thinking. Faith is of God. If He is drawing
you nearer to Him, He will do it in His own way. Meanwhile I say
again be careful. You may be beyond suspicion, but a man so straight
and sincere may have enemies avoided by the more wary and the more
cunning."
This was only the beginning of a conversation which lasted for
some hours, and when Hugh departed he carried his loan of dangerous
books as openly under his arm as though they had been the works of
the most approved ancient pagans, or the latest production of that
then rather rare litterateur, the English novelist. Evening after eve-
ning he gave his mind to the reading of these books, and one night was
sitting rapt in the study when he was interrupted by Colonel Slaughter-
ii6 O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE [April,
house, claiming hospitality, declaring that he was tired and hungry, that
his life was worse than a dog's life, and that he was not going to bear
it much longer.
" My men are all over the country," he said, " and in ill-humor
because they have been finding little to do, and have been earning no
rewards. Truth is I have tried to restrain them, but it is little use.
Some other man will have to lead them soon — some fresh hand."
Hugh supplied all his wants of the hour, and afterwards the two
men sat at the open window, while the moon rose over the mysterious
bog, and the night mists flitted across it like penitential spirits in the
ghostly gleam. The lamplight from within the room fell on the open
book laid down by Hugh on the visitor's entrance, and Slaughterhouse
threw the end of his cigar out of the window and took up the volume.
" Hello ! " he said. " Popish books ! " and then he looked through
the pages for some minutes, while Hugh sat tranquilly watching him.
At last the Colonel closed the book with a slap and threw it on the
table.
" Now look here, Ingoldesby," he said. " IVe come here to you
as a friend to a friend. You have given me meat and drink, and I
will gfive you what is better, a word of advice. You are a proud, in-
dependent fellow, and as such I admire you. But don't let your pride
run away with you in a conceit that you can be supposed to do no wrong
in the eye of the law, and that you can dabble as much as you like in
the mire of Popery without suspicion of defilement."
" I don't," said Ingoldesby, smiling. " Am I not the model of a
law-abiding gentlemen? My hands are clean of mire of any sort,
whether of Popery or of a law in a state of corruption."
" Corruption on both sides. Keep out of it all."
" I have not found any between the covers of the book you are
condemning. Nothing but the highest thought, the noblest teaching
that the heart and brain of man have ever conceived. If I may not
think such thoughts or examine such teaching, what then do you
provide for me? Is a man not the master of his own conscience? "
" Not in this country. How can you ask such a question in a land
where the air is hissing with the promises of bribery? Where the
ultimate penalty of disobedience to the law is death ? "
" My neck is safe, however," said Hugh laughing. " Have another
glass of wine. Slaughterhouse, and a good night's sleep, and you will
have no more nightmares."
" I see you will not take me seriously," said the Colonel. " Yet I
am giving you a friendly warning. You have associated yourself in an
extraordinary manner with Catholics, and at the same time retired from
the society of your Protestant neighbors. And, now, if you are caught
studying Papistical literature, you may find yourself an object of
1915.I O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE 117
suspicion, which a false word from an enemy may change into certainty
in the judgment of those who can strip you of everything."
" Well, you see, I have you between me and the danger," said Hugh
with another confident smile.
" You may not have me long. I am sick of the work I have to do.
I think of getting out of it all, marrying and going to live in some less
miserable country. Another man who will have his fortune to make
(rot who will, to manure his own new possessions) will take my
place. When I have left the service, I shall have to wash my hands of
you."
'' I am sorry for that," said Ingoldesby.
" Think over what I have said. Now I will take your hospitable
offer and go to bed. Don't sit up all night reading this dangerous
trash," said Slaughterhouse, going.
XXXIL
On a radiant midstunmer morning Brona set out for the Mass
Rock, arriving there at sunrise to find a congregation waiting for the
coming of Father Aengus, who had not appeared. The priest had
gone the evening before to g^ve the last Sacraments to a dying man,
at a cohsiderable distance from the Castle. He had not expected to
return that night, but had intended to meet the people at the Mass
Rock by sunrise on the following morning.
As time passed, and the familiar brown figure was not seen
hastening across the bog, the people became uneasy and began to dis-
perse. It was dangerous to linger there. Slaughterhouse's men were
known to be abroad. The priest might have had a timely warning to
lie by in some of the hiding placies, in hollow tree, or ruined wall, or
cave under rocks which were his refuge when in fear of a surprise. It
were safer for him and for them that they should separate and get
back to their homes. And so they crept away, in ones and twos and
threes, by cuttings in the bog, by passages, between rocks, and by
stepping stones and planks of bogwood across pools and lake-like
sheets of bog-water.
Brona waited long, and was the last to turn her face towards
home, where she hoped to find the Father in his cell. But Father
Aengus had not returned to the Castle. He was not in his cell, nor
had he been seen or heard of by anyone in the house or in the
neighborhood since the previous evening. Such an unexpected ab-
sence was not quite unusual, and yet was always a cause for gjeat
anxiety to his friends and clients. In some one of his lonely hiding
places, scarcely known even to his friends, he might lie, starved and
ii8 O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE [April,
chilled, till illness from exhaustion might seize him, and death put an
end to his sufferings before aid could find him.
" Ah," said Thady, " sure the bell isn't more buried in the heart
of a tree than himself maybe this minute. An' ne'er a shout out of
him like the ringin' of the same bell, though nobody can find it."
" Don't be a false prophet, Thady Quin," said Mrs. MacCurtin.
" The Father will be back in his cell safe and sound, as many a time
he was, after the hearts had been squez out of us with fright about
him."
Brona could not rest, and Hugh met her crossing the bog alone
in search of the object of so much general anxiety.
" What is the matter? " he asked. " Is your father ill? Or you
yourself? "
" We are ill with anxiety about Father Aengus. That is all. But
it is an all that means much. How terrible if we were to lose our
only friend in God ! "
" I do not believe that Slaughterhouse would allow him to be
harmed."
" I trust not," said Brona ; but her faith in Slaughterhouse was
hardly so absolute as Ingoldesby's.
It was a glorious midsummer day. The brown and golden
moor, with its seams of purple and flashes of watery light, the gray
violet hills, the darkling woods, the ripening fields, the blue sea with
its fringes of green, all lay under a benediction of brooding sunshine,
like the approving smile of an infinitely loving God. Going by un-
frequented paths they met no living creature. Hugh found a longed
for opportunity for talking to Brona of many things which he did
not care to discuss in the presence of others, and Brona listened,
thrilling with hopes and fears which she did not dare to put into
words. Thus many hours passed while they traveled an area of some
miles, visiting hovels and cabins where lay the sick and needy, who
were the particular objects of the charity of Father Aengus. But
no one had seen the Father or heard from him.
At last they found the dying man to whom he had administered
the last Sacraments on the previous evening. The visit of consola-
tion had been happily paid, and the Father had departed as usual just
at nightfall. He had been seen to cross the bog by the light of the
rising moon, but further than a shadowy fold in the land nobody had
tracked him. Coming to a group of ruined walls with a half-fallen
tower, Hugh made his way up a narrow winding stair to a hiding
place among tumbled stones to which Brona directed him.
" He may be lying there, stricken with illness," she said. " I
have always feared that some day we should so iind him."
Hugh reached the spot with difficulty, but it was empty, and a
I9IS.] (yLOGHLIN OF CLARE 119
call of the Father's name produced no answer. A hollow tree, a
cave under rocks were explored, the name of Father Aengus was
whispered in silent almost inaccessible places, and all to no purpose,
till at last Ingoldesby insisted on Brona's returning home, saying that
in all probability the hours they had spent in their quest had brought
the friar back safely to Castle O'Loghlin. That expectation was
disappointed however. The priest was still absent and had not been
heard of.
After a sleepless night Brona was on the moor again, and again
was met by Hugh bent on accompanying her. Turning their faces in
a different direction from that traveled the day before, they followed
the same plan of search, Brona going into the cabins, and asking
questions of everyone she met on the way. The only information
she gained was of the fact that a band of soldiery had been seen
hanging about the countryside during the last few days. They had
made raids on some of the better class of houses. It was hoped that
they had now passed on elsewhere, but the terrified people spoke of
their doings in whispers. That day's search also proved unavailing,
and on the third morning Hugh came early to the Castle to beg that
Brona would not undertake another such long fatiguing quest, but
would stay at home with her father, and try to divert his thoughts
from the anxiety of the moment.
" Alas ! " said Brona, " he cannot take any comfort till the truth
is known. He will be better satisfied if he is assured that every ef-
fort is being made. That our friend is lying ill and desolate some-
where is certain, and I may possibly be, of all the searchers, the one to
find him."
And so another day's travel began. Brona tried in vain to
persuade Ingoldesby that he was endangering his own safety by dis-
playing such open sympathy with a felon, and with the friends whom
he was supposed to have condemned and betrayed to the executors
of the law. He persisted in supporting her throughout this hour of
increasing tribulation.
" My lot is my own," he said. " I have drawn it. Let me take
it. There are things that must be done without thought of danger.
If not your resolute priest would never have set foot in this cruelly
misgoverned country."
So they set out again, Hugh heavy-hearted, dreading a further
impending trial for Brona, and Brona weighted with sorrow and fear
for everyone concerned but herself. Occasionally they met people
pretending to be gathering turf or cutting heather, or dragging bog-
wood out of the water, all eagerly on the search for Father Aengus.
A whisper with averted eyes was their greeting of Brona. Slaughter-
house's men might be lurking On the watch behind some rock or bush.
120 O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE [April,
and words that the wind might carry were better unspoken. There
had been scarcely a breeze all day. Radiant sunshine transfigured
every feature of the land. The mountains seemed absorbed in a rap-
ture of worship, the motionless sea raised blue eyes dim with dreams
to the sky, a mantle of glory had descended on the darkling woods.
All nature was lost in adoration of the Creator of so much splendor.
"As if in pre-vision of what is to come, never yet sighted by
mortal eyes, never felt by creature or thing," said Brona pausing to
rest against a thorn tree that looked at the moment like the Scriptural
burning bush that hid the Lord.
As the "westering wheel" of the sun, having made heaven's
descent, reached the mountains' brow, and seemed to rest there, the
wind began to rise in short gusts, and clouds that had hung about all
day in golden laziness shook off their languor and hurried about the
sky, making for the west, as if obeying some mysterious mandate
to signal the end of so much magnificence by unveiling the glory so
soon to become extinct. By the time these gusts of wind had
freshened, and the clouded western sky had taken the appearance
of a gory battlefield after the fray, Brona and Hugh had reached a
spot skirting the bog, on its distant side from Castle O'Loghlin.
They had passed the spot before, and had seen nothing unusual in the
rough stems and thick growth of the branching trees hanging over
their heads. Suddenly Brona uttered a piercing cry, and fell with
her face to the sod.
"OGod! O God, he is there!"
Hugh stooping to support her raised his eyes to the trees and
saw what she had seen — ^the flutter of a brown gown, the swing of a
sandalled foot as the wind swept the boughs aside ; and for a moment
the pallid face of the Franciscan gleamed on him, and vanished as the
boughs closed again and hid it. Slaughterhouse's men had not left
the neighborhood without earning their money.
XXXIII.
At midnight by the glimmer of a watery moon Father Aengus
was taken down from the tree of his martyrdom into reverent arms,
and laid in the grave hastily dug for him, his crucifix on his breast,
his brown robe folded about his limbs, no coffin, no shroud, lest delay
should see the return of the executioners to desecrate this holy resting
place, and to dishonor the mortal shell that had housed the soul of a
saint and a Christian soldier. Ingoldesby and Thady were present
at the strange funeral.
" I seen him put in,*' said Thady hanging over the fire in the
1915] (TLOGHLIN OF CLARE 121
small hours with Mrs. MacCurtin. " He's close to the old Mass Rock,
as he has a right to be. Oh, then when will the Mass be said there
again, now he's gone? An' nobody to come after him till God sends
us another warrior to fight for Him, and the masther dyin' without
the priest, an' no Sacraments to comfort him. An' that'll be the sore
end to his troubles. For dyin' he is, an' no wonder after one thing
and another that has happened to him. Turlough to have turned out
a rascal on him, and the Protestant to have got the estate, and Miss
Brona to be left desolate, and himself to be dyin' without a priest to
bring the Lord to him."
"Whisht now, Thady," said Mrs. MacCurtin, wiping her eyes.
"Sure you know well that Morogh O'Loghlin lyin' on his bed up
there is well able to die without the priest. If he wasn't wouldn't
God have waited a bit for Father Aengus, bad as He might have
wanted to get him in heaven? And didn't the Father tell us that
the Lord Himself will come to us dyin' without e'er a one to bring
Him, or give Him the whisper that he's wanted? Do y' think it is
the doctor we're talkin' about that needs a word to be sent to him,
or how would he know a body was sick? And for Miss Brona it's
easy to have a guess about who's goin' to take care of her. The
Protestant that has us owned at present is not goin' to be a Protestant
long."
"Tush, my good woman !" said Thady. "If you want to know an
honest man's real mind about that — I don't believe in one o' them.
Is it two estates down to his name and throw them both over his
shoulder? Do y' want to put him even with the masther that's a
dying saint, and Father Aengus that's a martyr? "
" I'm takin' nothin' to do with either odds or evens," said Mrs.
MacCurtin, "only sayin' plain what I see, an' I with my two eyes
open."
"Well, my two eyes is gettin' shut," said Thady, "an' small
blame to them, between salt tears an' never a wink o' sleep this many
a night; besides the sight I seen at the Mass Rock a couple of hours
ago, that nearly cut the light out o' them, lavin' you blind, Thady
Quin, for the rest of the time you have to be in it"
Brona knew that her father was on his deathbed. The cruel
martyrdom of his tender comforter and spiritual friend and counsellor
had dealt him a final blow, and he lay prostrate in the death sickness
of gradual heart failure, a little weaker every day, with no hope from
his physician of his recovery. Ingoldesby stood by Brona, coming
every day to relieve her watch undeterred by her protests as to his
danger, or by the warnings of Slaughterhouse. Sometimes he stayed
the night, if immediate death seemed imminent. In those quiet hours
alone with the dying man, listening to his murmured prayers of resig-
122 O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE [April,
nation and thanksgiving, the latent convictions of his own mind and
heart forced their way to their place in his most living thoughts, and
a resolution was taken which at that time he confided to no one.
" How these Catholics die ! " he said to himself. " How they
bear to live, and how they die ! " And he began to pray in the words
he had learned from St. Augustine.
Mrs. MacCurtin was right when she said that Morogh was able
to die without the priest, since God had deprived him of all spiritual
help.
" Brona," he said, " I know you are grieving because I have to
die without the Sacraments. But have good heart. I always thought
I should have our dear saint beside me at this hour; but God has
taken all such anxious desire away from me. He is coming Himself
Who is the Sacrament. Already I hear His approach. He is coming
across the bog. He is at the Mass Rock. Father Aengus is with
Him, and others. I see Columba, Adamnan, and the Caldec. Patrick
and Bridget, and the Holy Mother herself will be of the company.
Already this room is filling with the angels in waiting for them."
Brona was holding his hand and watching the smile as of great
bliss brightening on his face.
Presently they heard him say with a loud and happy cry:
" Welcome, a hundred thousand times welcome my Divine Master I
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus ! "
With the last word his soul passed.
They made his grave in the ancient ruined Corcomroe Abbey,
in the open wind-swept chancel, near the sculptured tomb of King
Conor O'Brien. And after all wa^ done Brona stood like the shadow
of herself, alone of all her family, in Castle O'Loghlin.
Aideen had not been able to come to her. Turlough had fought
a duel in a gaming house, and was ill of a mortal wound. She had
left her harbor in the convent and was nursing him, striving to save
his useless life, and to bring peace to his soul. Her letter to Brona
breathed of anguish which was little tempered by hope. Of all who
had been hers in her home, Brona had no one by her except the faith-
ful and affectionate old servants. But outside her walls there was still
the devotion of Ingoldesby.
XXXIV.
Mary Delany hastened from her garden to her husband in his
study.
" Morogh O'Loghlin is dead," she said. " They have hanged the
priest who was his comforter, and the shock has killed my friend.
I9IS.] O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE 123
Hugh Ingoldesby has written to me. The giri is alone at Gistle
O'Loghlin, and Hugh is concerned about her."
Dr. Delany joined his finger tips together as if about to pray
or preach, and looked mildly over his spectacles.
" My dear love," he said, " this is sad news. But there is nothing
that you or I can do in the circumstances. The girl is already a nun,
and will find a home in a French convent. Don't let us follow Hugh's
lead by entangling ourselves in Catholic movements. Rumor says
that he has greatly injured his reputation as an upholder of the
State by his interest in Papists and their affairs."
A slight frown crossed Mrs. Delany 's sunny face, and she said
quickly, " I love Brona OTLoghlin for her own sake, and be she Papist
or Hindoo, I will show her any kindness I can in her day of need."
" Right, right, my loye," said the Dean. " But what is her need?
Where are the French aunt and the troublesome brother? What
occasion can you have to interfere? "
"The graceless Turlough is ill from his own folly, and his ador-
ing aunt is. nursing him."
The Dean shook his head. " Pity Hugh had not allowed the
young man to step into his father's shoes. The estate would have
been saved for the family and the name carried on, and the county
at the same time would have secured another good Protestant land-
holder."
" At the sacrifice of conscience ! " said Mrs. Delany reproach-
fully.
" My dear, don't speak like that to anyone but me, or you may
be quite misunderstood. There is an extreme, an exaggerated con-
science that leads persons astray, and which ought not to be taken
into consideration. But do as you please, my love, and I trust that
your husband's reputation and position will shield you from the con-
sequences of your too good-natured action."
An hour later Hugh presented himself in person to Mrs. Delany,
who received him with even more than her usual kindness.
" Tell me all about it," she said.
When she had heard the details of the O'Loghlin tragedy, she
proceeded to act with the good nature which her husband had dis-
approved and yet sanctioned.
" Any service I can do Miss O'Loghlin shall be done for her own
sake," she said, " but after that, when we have seen her safely into a
French convent, you will, I hope, cease your dangerous association
with the Catholics of your county. Already you are under some sus-
picion."
" I have had a letter from Slaughterhouse," said Hugh, smiling,
" warning me that I am known to have assisted at the cutting down
124 O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE [April,
and at the burial of the long-hunted and finally-captured priest, the
Franciscan friar who for some years had infested the district of
Burren. Also, that under pretense of discovering on a Papist prop-
erty holder, I have mixed myself up with the affairs of his family, and
have been present at his godless deathbed."
" Well? " said Mrs. Delany, " does it not prove that I am right?
I will go to Qare and fetch Miss O'Loghlin here to stay with me
till she can make her own arrangements. And you, I b^ of you,
leave the country at once, and avoid trouble that is evidently im-
pending."
" According to Slaughterhouse it has been impending for a long
time," said Hugh. " I will reply to him that I intend to save him the
trouble of doing his worst by the step I am about to take. To-
morrow morning I shall be received into the Catholic Church."
" Are you quite mad? "
" If I were ever mad, at all events I am now sane. In the king-
dom of God is sanity, on earth as it is in heaven."
" You will lose, everything for love of a woman ! " cried Mary
Delany.
"On the contrary, it is the love of a woman that has saved me.
Dear friend, I am grieved to distress you, for I know that your dis-
tress is as genuine as my own would have been sometime ago if one
I loved had told me what I tell you to-day."
"I am indeed bitterly distressed. You will marry Brona?"
" If she will take me now. At present she is in ignorance of the
decision I have arrived at by the grace of God, and that only. No
one, not you, nor Slaughterhouse nor any of my friends or well-
wishers, has been as anxious as she has been to shield me from worldly
ruin by her warnings, and by her avoidance of my company. But that
was when she feared I might not be thorough from any point of
view — ^that I might lose the shadow without gaining the substance,
if I may be allowed to reverse the order of the fable."
" Your worldly ruin ! " echoed Mary Delany ruefully.
" Not that either," said Hugh smiling. " It will, indeed, be good-
bye to the County of Qare. Some lucky fellow will pick up two nice
properties no doubt, and there will be some laughter at the fool who
threw them both out of his hands for the sake of a woman, or, grant-
ing me sincerity of conscience, then for the sake of a dream. I know
it all so well, because I was in the swim of it myself so recently. But
my wife and I will have sufficient means left for a happy life in some
country where a man is allowed to live by his conscience, and to fol-
low, if he will, in the footsteps of the saints."
"Which saints? " asked Mrs. Delany, sadly.
" A large (question," said Hugh brightly. " I have known some
1915] O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE 125
saints already on this side of the great boundary. I shall have one
by my side. And now, dear friend, so interested for me, so patient
with me, I know what your eyes are looking at, and I know what they
cannot see. But let us join hands in Christian charity, which in itself
is a communion of saints, and let nothing break our friendship."
" Nothing indeed, on my side," said Mrs. Delany. " As I have
said, I should wish to go to Qare and bring Brona here."
" You are good," said Hugh. " Will you come back with me to
Ardcurragh? "
" What will Miss Ingoldesby say if she comes to save you from
ruin, and finds me countenancing you? "
" No fear of that My good narrow-minded aunt will avoid me
in future as she would fly a pestilence."
XXXV.
Brona was packing to leave her home, sitting on a trunk already
filled, a mournful letter from Aideen in her hand. Turlough was still
alive, and Aideen could not leave him, so Brona must prepare to
come to her. MacDonogh was to sail in a few days and would bring
her safely to France.
" Your old friends in the convent will be glad to receive you,"
wrote Aideen, " and I have enough of my little fortune left to enable
us to live here till we see further."
Hugh was in Dublin. The lonely girl asked herself whether she
ought to wait for his return, or depart without saying farewell to
him, perhaps forever. She must, at all events, be ready to start as
soon as MacDonogh should call for her.
Reading the letter yet once again, clinging to it as a link between
the past of love and the present of desolation, she was interrupted by
the arrival of Hugh. She went to him with the letter in her hand.
" I am glad you have come," she said. " I did not like going
without saying good-bye to you."
" You would not have done that," he said. " But Mrs. Delany
has a better way arranged for you. She has come to take you to
Delville. She has written to your aunt and to MacDonogh. She is
coming to see you this afternoon. Meanwhile, will you come for a
walk with me, a farewell walk? For I too am leaving the County of
Qare, perhaps never to return."
"Oh, no," said Brona, "it is (Joubly your home now, and all
difiiculties are cleared from your path. But, yes, I would like to take
thatt walk with you."
• They walked through the sunshine tpwarc^s the Mass JlocH. Both
126 O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE [April,
knew that they were going to pay a farewell visit to the grave of the
murdered Franciscan.
"Let us rest here awhile," said Hugh, finding her a seat on a
ridge of stone, " and let us have a little talk. You said just now that
difficulties have been cleared from my path."
" Yes," said Brona. " We shall all be gone. And I am glad, as
we have had to be blotted out, that it is you who are to stand in my
father's place. You have no longer that prejudice against the faith
of the people which you used to have, and you will be kind to them.
You will have much power, being the owner of two properties instead
of one."
"All that would be of no kind of benefit to me unless I could
share it with you."
Brona's eyes darkened with pain.
" Don't ! " she said. " Why will you spoil the last hour we have
to be together? "
" I don't want to spoil this happy hour," he said, " but I must
ask you once more, and for all — Brona, will you marry me ? "
" You are not generous. You know the sad difference that keeps
us apart."
" I do not know it. We are one in heart, and one in faith.
"Faith?"
" Yes, faith. I have been received into the Catholic Qiurch. No,
don't look so shocked, my dearest. I have done it from no unworthy
motive."
" For me? " said Brona, with a white light on her face, her lips
trembling. " Oh, no, God will not be played with."
Hugh took her hands, and held them while he smiled in her eyes.
"My dear, you have not been the cause, only the instrument
God has taken so absolute a grip of me that I could not escape Him
if you were not in the world. As you are in the world, and as we may
live in it together henceforward, I am most devoutly thankful."
Brona had bowed her head on the hands that were holding hers
so tightly.
" You must give me time to realize it," she said. " It is too
amazing."
" You are not more amazed than I have been, but already it
seems so natural that I feel as if I had been bom and baptized into
the Catholic Church. For the rest we shall not starve. We can live
frugally in Italy.
Mrs. Delany was waiting for them when they returned to Castle
O'Loghlin. Seeing the two bright faces that met her troubled eyes,
she marveled at that supernatural Something which was so radiantly
real for them, and had no kind of existence for her.
1915] O'LOGHLIN OF CLARE 127
She did not venture to speak of it, only said:
" You will come and make your home with me, my dear, until
things are settled."
Brona made no objection. She was in Hugh's hands now. The
next day another visit of farewell was paid to the g^ave of Morogh
O'Loghlin in the ancient Abbey, Brona's favorite haunt in the days
of her sad and meditative girlhood. Arrangements were made with
the old servants to stay in the Castle until directed to join their
mistress in her new home after her marriage.
They were wedded in the little secret chapel of Miss Crilly's
" nunnery " in Dorset Street, and left Ireland for Italy immediately
afterwards.
Hugh Ingoldesby's conversion to Popish ways remained forever
an enigma to Mary Delany, but she delighted in her visits to the
modest little home at Fiesole where the Ingoldesbys, in the small house
and large garden, which was the ideal of Horace, found ample scope
for the doings of an active as well as an intellectual life. For which
curiously inconsistent and scandalously liberal conduct she had to
suffer the loss of the friendship of Miss Jacquetta Ingoldesby.
A few years later Hugh's old acquaintance. Colonel Slaughter-
house, wrote to him:
I am glad to hear you are so happy in your own peculiar fashion, and
I am sure yoq will feel no displeasure at the fact that the estates of
Ardcurragh and Castle O'Loghlin have devolved on me. You know how
often I warned you of danger, and until you had quite cut yourself off
I had no intention of stepping into your shoes. For the rest, someone
had to do it, and the someone might as well be me.
You had heard that the tide of Earl of Donegore is to go with the
estates. I do not care much for titles myself, but my wife (whom you
knew as Lady Kitty Carteret) fancies it, and naturally I am pleased to
gratify her.
It may be noted here that a certain Hon. Captain Slaughter-
house who distinguished himself in the Boer War, boasts of his
descent from an ancient and honorable family in the County of Qare.
But (as the people pray) "the light of heaven to them" — the
ancients whose mortality sleeps in the sanctuary at Corcomroe, and
in the heart of the Burren bog beside the old Mass Rock under the
tree of the martyr — the last of the O'Loghlins, Kings of Burren, and
the Franciscan who lived and died in the service of his Lord!
[the end.]
A NOVELIST'S HOVEL-READING.
BY JOHN AYSCOUGH.
HERE are some fairly bookish people to whom it is a
matter of impossibility to read the novels of the
present century, and that by no means because they
hold themselves superior to novel-reading. They
go through a certain cycle of novels year by year, and
go through them again and again, their pleasure in them never
diminished, though the plot of each is well remembered, and can
hold out no hope of the excitement of surprise or suspense; even
the dialogue is known almost by heart, and much of the phrasing is
known altogether by heart. Such readers could dictate whole pages
of Pride and Prejudice or of Emma, yet Miss Austen never grows
stale, and twice or thrice a year is not too often for them to read her
books. They can read with the same faithful frequency all those
novels by Sir Walter that the true lover of Scott means when he
speaks of his books — Guy Mannering, The Antiquary, The Pirate,
The Heart of Midlothian, The Bride of Lammermoor, Redgauntlet,
Rob Roy, Waverly — ^yes, and The Black Dwarf, and Old Mortality,
The Legend of Montrose and Peveril, Woodstock, and The Fortunes
of Nigel.
Jane Austen is faultless, and Sir Walter's faults are nothing
to them. Miss Bumey's one book is so excellent that they are fain
for its sake to read and re-read the other two — ^as one frequents the
two less clever sisters in a family for the reminder they are
constantly affording of their brilliant sister who cannot be always
in presence.
In the same way this class of reader will, for the love of
Castle Rackrent and The Absentee, go through all, or very nearly all,
of Miss Edgeworth. And perhaps it is not only for its own sake
that Miss Ferrier's delightful trilogy is held dear: Inheritance,
Destiny, and Marriage have none of the faultlessness of Jane
Austen, but they are Scotch cousins of her masterpieces. If ever it
were lawful to edit anybody it might seem so in the case of Miss
Ferrier. There is not a line or a phrase in all Miss Austen that
could possibly be left out, shortened or bettered; there are pages,
and almost whole chapters, in Inheritance, Destiny, and Marriage,
ipiSl A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING 129
against which skipping is too mild a protest: they shotdd not be
therf . I dwe to say Jane was as good a woman as Susan, but
Sus^ is too good by half. She had no business with reflections
except those her looking-glass afforded her; and she should have
published htr sermons by subscription, separately. In spite, how-
ever, of thf sermons and reflections no one who loves novels that are
books could do without Inheritance and Miss Pratt, Destiny, and
Lady Waldegrave, or Marriage and Lady Maclaughlan.
So far we have scarce got beyond the eighteenth century, which
ran on into the nineteenth in a manner that has not been repeated
with the nineteenth and twentieth. On the contrary, the twentieth
was an eight months' child, and had not the decency to wait for
A. D. 1900— or 1901 ; I forget how they settled it
But the bookish novel-reader who loves Jane Austen and Sir
Walter, Maria and Susan, has later loves, which never tend to make
him faithless. There are many Dickens-books, and many Thack-
eray-books which are not less dear to him, but more, for his fealty
to the Waverleys, Mansfield Park, Evelina, Castle Rackrent, and
Inheritance. He knows all that can be urged against Dickens and
against Thackeray, and feels it more strongly than most of those
who urge it — ^because he feels a personal interest in it, as Lord
Westbury did in the question of Eternal Punishment — ^but it makes
no difference. Paul Dombey was not always " wildly waving;"
Little Nell, if insufferable, is not ubiquitous, even in the Old
Curiosity Shop, which is now a first favorite. Paul's bones are
really rather touching, and the poor child would not have been
sentimentally pathetic if Dickens had not thought an early Victorian
public demanded it. It has been said that Dickens had no idea of
being humorous and pathetic at the same moment; that when he
meant to be funny he only meant you to laugh, and when he was
resolved to be pathetic there would be no occasion for anything
but pocket handkerchiefs. But Paul Dombey is certainly not least
touching when he is most queer.
It may be true that Dickens is often too didactic: that there
is too much purpose in Oliver Twist, Bleak House, and Nicholas
Nickleby. It may also be true that in many of his books there is no
plot, or that the plot is not ingeniously constructed; but such
truths are not of the least consequence. They may illustrate the
ingenuity of a certain class of critic, but they will never make
readers care more for criticism than for Dickens.
Thackeray's faults are of a wholly different kind, and his
VOL. CI.-^
I . i' ' t ) ?
130 A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING / ' * t-^ipril,
greatest admirers may be entirely sensible of them. He is, said
a very brilliant essayist, the average clubman plus gemus: i^hich
is saying about as much as if one should say that Bulns was' the
average ploughman plus genius. He thinks too much of the 1)adc-
stairs, and is too fond of mounting to the drawing-roqm by way
of it ; of the drawing-room itself he makes too much all the while
he is fie-f ying it. Some of his snobs are so because he ftiake^ them
so; his nose for meannesses, pettinesses, hypocrisies is too keen-
scented and rather heartless.* His pessimism is not le^s dismal
because it is vicarious and conventional. All this may be true,
and much more than this ; had he possessed anything short of abso-
lute genius he would have been intolerable: but then the genius
is absolute and not to be talked down or belittled by all the criticism
in the universe or elsewhere. His wit is never boisterous like that
of Dickens, and the laughter he raises has a gasp in it; but it never
falls short of itself. It is often of extreme subtlety, often poig-
nantly akin to pathos, sometimes not without a scoff or a stab,
but never far-fetched, nor forced, nor insincere; never common,
never coarse, though sometimes cruel, and, on occasion, brutal.
Thackeray might, when he gave Vanity Fair to the world, have
said with a million times more truth what William Godwin said
when he gave it Caleb Williams: " I will write a tale that shall
constitute an epoch in the mind of the reader, that no one, after he
has read it, shall ever be exactly the same man that he was before "
— but Thackeray was not capable of such Giant Blunderbore boast-
ings. He never even tried : had he tried it would have been " in
a monstrous little voice ;" he would have boasted you as gently as a
sucking dove.
To such novel-readers as we speak of, come, after Dickens
and Thackeray, in long procession, and assured of welcome, George
Meredith and Thomas Hardy (or vice versa), the Bronte sisters,
George Eliot, the authoress of Cranford, and the authoress of
Salem Chapel and Miss Marjoribanks; and, walking somewhat
alone, the still under-appreciated author of Mrs. Proudie's being.
Having admitted faults in greater men we may speak of
Meredith's ; a plethora of genius and a supererogation of brilliance.
His brilliance is less trying to the eyesight than Bulwer's or Dis-
raeli's ; and it does not irritate like theirs, because it is less voluntary
—one really suspects he can't help himself. But it also fatigues,
and its dazzle distracts the attention of those who would desire
intimacy with his galaxy of originals. Too much glare of light
1915] A NOVELISTS NOVEI^READING 131
makes everyone look alike. And, in thus succumbing to the hnX-
liance of his own gifts, this illustrious writer is unfair to his
creations — ^they are all too Meredithian for quite absolute truth
and quite complete conviction. And, singular as his genius is,
there is too much of it. No one who really reads books can read
more than a chapter or two of Meredith at a time : the cleverness
is so great that one dreads missing any of it through a mere yielding
to the interest of the tale.
Such faults are not common, and they only amount to over-
equi{mient, an excess of extreme rarity. No one could be less like
Meredith than Hardy, who is still more unlike Thackeray; his
stage is infinitely broader, being as wide as nature herself, and
stretching as far as God has any land, much further than He has any
folk upon it. Thackeray, Dickens, and Meredith, with nothing else
in common except genius, are at least all three of a persistent
modernity. Hardy is not of any time. He has an ancient breadth
and deq)ness ; he is as tragic as a whirlwind, and can be as pathetic
as the spring. His power is elemental and does not belong indoors :
when he comes in out of the woods and the rain and winds, when
he leaves behind him heath and hillside, flowered field and broad
sunshine, he lies bound like Samson in the house of Delilah. He
is too big for the littleness of parlors, and is well-advised to avoid
them, as he chiefly does. I do not perceive that he has any literary
ancestors: like Melchisedech he appears to be without father,
without mother, without genealogy. In a sudden chapter of literary
genesis he appears, a great and lonely figure, of intense meaning
and force and grandeur ; at a solitary altar he offers a solemn and
silent sacrifice, with never a word of himself, to a power that he
does not explain, nor name, nor image.
As separate, as solitary, not less sombre, and more fateful,
stands Emily Bronte, who is always mentioned with her sisters,
and should never be mentioned except apart. How the perversity
of any criticism could have ascribed Wuthering Heights and Shirley
to the same author passes my patience of comprehension. Powerful
as Charlotte's best work is, there is scarcely a hint in it of the austere
sublimity of power that starts up like an apparition in Wuthering
Heights. In no flippant spirit be it said, Charlotte was bom a
governess and died one, and her heroes are governesses like her
heroine. Her gift was very great, but not quite great enough
to lift her beyond her origins; and her material was confined to
what her own narrow life had given her. When she had described
132 A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING [April,
her personal experiences from various points of view, she had said
all she could say ; when, as in some parts of Jane Eyre, she essays
to describe something else, she becomes wooden and nearly becomes
absurd. Emily, whose experiences were still fewer, was indepen-
dent of them. Wuthering Heights is no more autobiographical
than the Eumemdes, and we must go back to -^schylus to find any-
thing comparable to it : which is not saying that -^schylus, nor any-
one else, ever produced anything like it. It stands quite alone in
literature, and cannot be accounted for or explained. We can best
know the extraordinary girl who wrote it by reading it, but nothing
that we know of the poignant bitterness of her life helps to make
it seem a less astounding achievement of supreme and savage
genius. It is pure tragedy without any of the common
" properties " of tragedy : a tragedy not of mere romance but of
unique passion.
I know of one most capable critic who ascribes it neither to
Emily or Charlotte, but to their brother, Patrick Branwell : such a
theory to me appears an insult to the book. It has what he could
never have given it, a fury of passion that is amazing in its intense
whiteness, its miraculous purity. It bums with a fire that is like
the scorching of one who blisters himself by touching his flesh
to arctic ice. No other woman could have written it, and no man
could have written it at all. If one should indulge his fancy by
arranging marriages for the Brontes, the genius of Emily would
mark her Swift's, and in death itself, with her for mate, scBva indig-
natio would have followed him ; William Godwin would have done
for Charlotte.
From Wuthering Heights to Adam Bede is a far cry, but
George Eliot is not to be talked out of the list of those whose best
novels can always be read, though for the fiftieth time, by those to
whom the twentieth century novel is tmreadable. Silas Mamer is
no more her greatest novel than Cranford is Mrs. Gaskell's; but
those who love Mrs. Gaskell best love Cranford immeasurably more
than all the rest of her books together; and Silas Marner has a
completeness of perfection attained by none of its bigger brethren.
One huge half of The Mill on the Floss is almost perfect, too, but
Maggie's best lovers find her less absorbing when she has grown
up and has a lover — for that matter, two— of her own. The genteel
portion of the book is unworthy of the Tulliver and Dodson part,
though not quite unworthy of George Eliot; the Guests and their
friends are as tiresome as the finer gentry in Adam Bede. Adam
ipiS.] A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING 133
himself, can be tedious at pleasure, but there are only dull passages
in the book, seldom whole chapters. Daniel Deronda and Rotnola
have few chapters that are not dull.
Of Cranford there is nothing to be said excq)t that it is sheer
perfection : not one line anywhere could be spared, not one phrase
made more faultless. It can never be loved too much, and it is
more tenderly loved at every reading. The only thing one can do
with it when the last word is reached, is to turn back to the first
and read it again. It could only be done once, and nothing else in
literature is like it. Mrs. Gaskell must have wondered how she did
it, for no other work of hers seems to be by the same writer. The
only shelf worthy to house it is that on which our Jane Austens
rest; but it has what they have not, an exquisite tenderness and
pathos.
Nevertheless, Sylvia's Lovers, Mary Barton, Ruth, Good
Wives, and North and South are all fine books worthy of each
other, if unrelated to Cranford. It would seem to show hoW far
we have traveled — I will not say in what direction — since they
were written, that Mary Barton, on its appearance, was thought
" dangerous," and Ruth improper.
Mrs. Oliphant has some resemblance to Mrs. Gaskell when the
latter was not quite at her best. But Mrs. Oliphant's best is very
good all the same. Salem Chapel and Miss Marjoribanks are ex-
cellent reading, in spite of the heavy handicap their author chose
to lay upon herself in the choice of her subjects. Perhaps less
gifted authors will be well-advised if they abstain from seeing what
they can make, in the way of romance, of a Nonconformist minister
and his committee, or of a young lady, released from boarding-
school, who aspires to leadership in a middling society.
None of the illustrious writers we have mentioned have any-
thing particular in common with Captain Marryat, excq)t the fact
that those to whom the contemporary novel is impossible can read,
at all events, Peter Simple with never-failing gusto and pleasure.
For my part, I wish he had not written any of the others, unless it
were Midshipman Easy. Not that I want them unwritten, but that
someone else might have done it; just as another lady of her name
with a different genius might have given us all Mrs. Gaskell's books
except Cranford. Peter Simple contains in itself almost all that
Marryat had to say, and it was uncommonly well worth saying. In
Midshipman Easy he says it again, with exclusions into the madcap
realms ruled by Thomas Love Peacock, realms in which I, for one,
134 A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING [April,
can pass but brief visits, and those rather of curiosity than of
pleasure.
And now for Anthony TroUope, to whom much more is owed
than the critics have ever been disposed to admit. Those gentlemen
have praised him for the most part, with too generous apology.
His readers form, I trust, a far more numerous band than his critics ;
and if they decrease, it will be because the taste for excellent reading
shall have diminished. The Barsetshire series are as good in their
kind as anything we could desire, and far better than anything else
we actually have. When Disraeli or Bulwer touch the same ground,
with all their brilliancy they invariably fall short of him, and are
usually intolerable. Those clever men thought more of their clever-
ness than of their theme, and in their hands it lost all the appeal of
reality. Trollope created hundreds of men and women that no
one else ever called into life; and between them they con-
stitute a presentment of English life in his times that will be of
infinite interest to times when they shall have long ceased to exist :
which is what not all historians have been able to do. Nor is their
interest merely archaic; they are so human that they can never
be out of date.
It seems to be suggested that Trollope had but a middling
capacity, and that his work was of only a mediocre quality. If he
had created no single character but the Rev. Josiah Crawley, in the
Last Chronicle of Barset, it would be enough to prove the dull
injustice of such a pretense; and the book of which he is the
protagonist is worthy of him. Mrs. Proudie achieves full immor-
tality in it in more senses than one ; and in it Archdeacon Grantley
is at his best, which is also his worst. Yet it is the last of a long
series of long books reproducing many of the same scenes and many
of the same people. How few authors could have made the same
attempt and contrived that the last should be better than the first,
and as good, if not better, than any of its predecessors.
By those who assume the uncalled-for, if not gratuitous, role of
Trollope's apologists, it seems to be taken for granted that he had
only a singular photographic capacity for merely correct reproduc-
tion; that he had a pedestrian accuracy of making portraits from
living originals. Yet all these books are in fact works of imagina-
tion ; the truth is that their author was the creator of these charac-
ters, whom in life he had never met and had had no opportunities of
meeting. It is the highest tribute to his power that he should have
so imposed upon his critics : his people are so real that the pertly
I9IS.] A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING 135
dull critic takes them for mere reality. What is true of his chart
acters is true of the surroundings in which he sets them : they are
painted from pictures he imagined, not from this English town and
comHy or from that. To pretend that Barchester is Salisbury is
possible only to those who know nothing of Salisbury, and can
reali^ no picture of Barchester when they read its description.
It may very readily be granted that the Barsetshire group of
TroUope's novels \s the best: it certainly contains his two finest
works, But it would be a very stupid mistake to suppose that it
contains all his fine work. In The Macdermots of Bally cloran
he has given us a better novel of Irish life than any Irishman ever
wrote, and, to niy thinking, the best Irish novel that we have.
Casile Ricbmoful, The Kellys and the O'Kellys, and An Eye for an
Eye are not so good, but they are very good indeed.
Then there are the political novels, The Prime Minister, Phineas
Finn, The Dukes Children and others, any one of which is better
than Disraeli's, in spite of Disraeli's much greater knowledge of
his subject. Can You Forgive Her? is only in a minor degree
political^ and that is by no means against it. It contains characters
hard to beat anywhere, e. g., only, Lady Glencora, George Vavasor,
his ststniv and their uncle, not to insist upon Burgo Fitzgerald.
Is HePwpiujoyf is perhaps as good, and that is saying a great deal.
Tbeortpare any other writer with the .absolute giants must be
unfaii**t6 the other writer; but if anyone should say that TroUope's
herftlHfris iw* better than Thackeray's, it would be uncommonly hard
to diSj]ifo^i^ it — ^assiuning, at all events, that Becky Sharp is not one
of Thackeray's heroines. Alice Vavasor is not the heroine of
Can You Forgive Her? but I do not know where to find her equal
in Thackeray, or where to look in him for a Lily Dale, or even a
Grace Crawley; and I would give twenty Amelias for one Mary
Thome.
TroUope's scoundrels are as bad as the devil and our own
selfishness can make us, but they are never too " steep " like those
of Dickens, and no one can help believing in them. They are
thoroughly bad fellows, and they range from worthlessness to vile
rascality and baseness, but they are men, not incarnations of par-
ticular vices, just as his best women are neither lachrymose angels
nor blameless idiots. Pitt Crawley's wife was as good a woman as
any in Thackeray, but he would not have held her forth as his
heroine.
There is no book of TroUope's that one cannot read through,
136 A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING [April,
and soon read again; while there are at most two of Disraeli's
that one cannot read through at all. Lothair is easier to read by
reason of Bret Harte's parody, with which it is amusing to compare
it, and for the rather illicit reason that one may have known the
4ramatis persotkB, and find in contrasting them with the originals
a diversion that has nothing to do with literature. The ftame
diversion is yielded by Endymion — ^but every book of this Illustrious
writer contains more that is indigestible and intolerable than what is
dazzling and almost interesting. They enshrine political essays of
singular brilliancy, and even justice, that might serve at irivaluable
sermons to politicians of a later age ; but they contain, tUo, heroes
and heroines as insufferable as can be found an)rwhere, though you
should turn to Bulwer to find worse, and heroic talk that might
make one of the paladins out of The Talisman perceive that the
faculty of boring to the marrow is the monopoly of no age.
Let us pause and remember that the nineteenth century gave
us other and very different novelists: trousered, and, 1 suppose,
crinolined. Some whom one can read with effort or without, and
some whom one need not read unless one has a mind* Charles
Reade and Wilkie Collins are read still by those who cottld ever
read them, among whom the present writer does not venture to dass
himself. But that is because he never could care for a plot unless
he cared for the plotters. They are both masters of plot, and they
had both the same perverse conviction that it was their duty to
the public to throw everything else overboard — except didactic
purpose, in Charles Reade's case, which was the one thing in his
cargo his ship could have sailed without.
What the poverty of the English language compels us to call
Wilkie Collins' style, sets our teeth on edge as effectually as Carlyle's
dislocates our spine, and his men and women are like trees walking
into a witness-box.
With less of his fortunately rare gpnius, Mrs. Henry Wood is
a great deal more readable. She stuck to the middle-classes, and no
doubt she was wise — wiser in her generation than a much wiser
woman, George Eliot, who made more than one unjustifiable attempt
on the aristocracy. But she fails to convince us that literature is
middle-class. She seldom fails in her plot, and that in spite of
an iteration that must have been hard to contend against. Thefts
that haven't been committed, and checks that no one forged, would
hardly seem more promising than murders that were mere suicides
or accidents, but she manages to make very good tales of them.
1915] A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING 137
as indeed she does out of the slings and arrows of outrageous
poverty.
By a singular stroke of genius an inspired parodist knocked
down Mrs. Henry Wood and Miss Yonge with one stone, which
must be our excuse for mentioning the authoress of The Heir of
Redclyffe so soon after the authoress of Mrs. Halliburton's
Troubles. Time was when we too could feel our interest in the
Anglican Amours of the Heir and his reproductions. But it must
be admitted that all Miss Yonge's heroes who were not in Holy
Orders ought to have been, and that there is some truth in the
flippant assertion that they were all old governesses in trousers.
But Miss Yonge wrote also The Little Duke and The Lances of
Lynwood, which go far to prove that she might, had she con-
descended so far, have written as good a romance of chivalry as
anybody who has made the fell attempt seven or eight hundred
years post factum.
There may be some to whom it will appear bold to drag into
such a list as this the name of the writer of Jackanapes. But she
deserves place as fully as does Miss Yonge. Those whose youth
was rendered less prosaic by Aunt Judy's Magazine will remember
Horatia Ewing's name as gratefully as that of her more renowned
sister, who gave us The Monthly Packet. They were both maga-
zines that died intestate, and have left — ^alas for yoimg people
nowadays, if there are any — no heirs. Horatio Gatty, who became
Mrs. Ewing, enriched us with "little" books that were perfect
in a kind that stands apart Jackanapes, and Lob-lie-by the Fire,
Jan of the Wind-Mill, and The Story of a Short Life, were tiny'
masterpieces that had a compact faultlessness which reminds us
of SUas Mamer and of Cranford, and forbids our wishing
them bigger. That they had for their illustrator the artist who
translated Bracebridge Hall into picture, was a stroke of rare good
fortune and singular appropriateness. They are only children's
books, if it be true that children and not grown-ups need lessons
of the beauty of innocence -and purity. I should be sorry for the
man or woman who could read Jackanapes aloud with a steady voice.
For dear perfection of style they would daim a high place, were it
not the case that they have far higher merits.
But the very word style must remind us of Robert Louis
Stevenson, who had so much else to recommend him. Any to whom
beautiful English is dear, would read his books even if they were
only half as enthralling as they are. To dare another heresy, I
138 A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING [April;,
would say that if Smollett's books could have been written by
Stevenson, they would have lost little and would have gained a great
deal : " Commodore Trunnion would have been just as queer, and:
would not have been queer only. Is there among all the long list
of odd, striking, original characters Smollett has left us, one that
anybody loves or that deserves the love of anybody? Are
not most of them repulsive and intolerable, and that because
their presentment is merciless and brutal? If Peregrine Pickle ^
Roderick Random and the rest make up a true picture of
their age, then indeed has mankind improved ; but I do not believe
it. The age was that of Sterne, and whatever may be urged — ^and
there is much of serious moment that can be urged — against Tris-
tarn Shandy, Tristam Shandy alone would supply an antidote to-
such belief; for whatever it may be it is profoundly htmian and
profoundly tender : it has passages that are almost bestial, but it is<
not full of beasts. Whatever Sterne's own heart may have been
worth, he knew all about the worth of the heart of mankind ; and he
could open a window into it with unerring instinct and art, if he
could shut it again with a grin not much cleaner than a satyr's.
Smollett knew nothing about the heart, except what the dissecting
table teaches. If Sterne could so far forget himself as to be
obliquely obscene, Smollett would be filthy without forgetting him-
self at all, and there is nothing oblique about his filth : it is as naked
and unashamed as Swift's, and it is as cold as it is naked. When
Sterne fell into the dirt he was dragged thither by his incapacity
to resist a morbid and illicit humor. Even Swift's filth is witty^
while it is savage; Smollett's is equally savage, but unwarmed
even by the chill fires of Swift's godless wit.
If all Smollett's books could have been lost and Stevenson
could have fotmd them and written them again, what books they
would have been ! Not a character would have been lost, and what
characters they would have become 1 In virility they would have
lost nothing; they would have been as grotesque and individual;
and they would have acquired himianity and humor; we should
have been able to laugh more, and we should be able to cry a little
(especially if, since Stevenson did not mind collaboration, Sterne
had " collaborated ") ; and, above all, we should have been interested
in their fate. There is not an ounce of suspense in all Smollett, and
there is almost too much in Stevenson for readers with weak hearts,
who are not weak enough to peep into last chapters.
Of course, Stevenson would have got as good as he gave:
1915] A NOVELISTS NOVEL-READING 139
there would be some added originality and perhaps some additional
force. But he would have supplied the romance. In his fine air
Smollett's brutes would have heroic excuse, and among them would
have moved women of whom Smollett never dreamt. We should
lose Smollett's improper prigs, but no one would miss them: for
the only justification of a prig is that he should be at all events
proper. No doubt such imaginings are unlawful, and can no more
be excused than any other liberties with the great. One might
almost as well wonder what Macaulay's Essays would have been
like if Ruskin had written them, or what Bacon would have turned
out if Shakespeare had amused his leisure by their production while
Bacon was actually engaged upon As You Like It. One might,
almost as pardonably, conjecture what sbrt of a book Wuthering
Heights would have been had Charlotte Bronte or Mr. Qement
Shorter really written it, or what might have been the result had
Jean Jacques Rousseau made St. Augustine's Confessions instead
of his own. It is as bad as perplexing youth by enquiring what
would have been the subsequent course of English history had
Oliver Cromwell married the Queen of Sheba, or Mr. Lloyd George's
parents never met.
NOTE.
All the departments of the magazine had to be omitted this
month in order to make room for the special articles in honor of
its Golden Jubilee.— [Ed. C. W.]
SOME ADVANCE CONGRATULATIONS.
Toledo, Ohio, March 8, 191 5.
Rev. John J. Burke, C.S.P.,
Editor of The Catholic World,
New York City.
Rev. Dear Sir:
I was much interested to hear of the forthcoming Jubilee
number, for the reason that possibly I am your oldest living lay reader,
not so much in the sense of my years, as from the fact that I was a
reader of The Catholic World from the beginning of its publication ;
and I am almost certain that I am your earliest living lay contributor,
with perhaps the exception of Agnes Repplier.
With best wishes for the continued success of the magazine, I am.
Respectfully yours,
(Mrs.) Margaret H. Lawless.
HOCHELAGA CONVENT,
Montreal, Quebec, March 13, 191 5.
Dear Reverend EonoR :
Allow me to congratulate you on the fiftieth birthday of
your excellent monthly. We have taken it here from the beginning,
and have had the volumes bound, two a year. When a young teacher
I do not know how I should have managed without the selected special
articles that treated so well of events and people necessary to be known.
To-day, one can refer to the Catholic Encyclopedia, or other works of
the kind, but forty years ago the case was very different, so that
"a friend in need," with the rest of the rhyme, found much of its
applicability in the reliable old Catholic World. May it multiply its
fiftieth anniversary by fifty times fifty more.
My father took it at home, too, and was acquainted with the
venerable Father Hecker. In fact, Brownson, MacMaster, and the
great Tractarian group were fireside friends in my childhood. We
did not have so many stories then, and so learned to love the great
teachers, with whom it was a pleasure to meet, even in print I
have always been thankful for the privilege.
I take the liberty of enclosing part of last month's wrapper; it
may help in your choice of paper for the purpose. Estimable friends
should travel safer.
In renewing my good wish for your continued prosperity, I remain,
Yours respectfully,
Sister Mary P. Gonzales.
1915] SOME ADVANCE CONGRATULATIONS 14*
Shreveport, La., March 7, 191 5.
My Dear Father Burke :
As a subscriber to your monthly from the second year of
its introduction to the world, by the noble brotherhood of Paulists,
now after passing its Golden Jubilee entering its centenary period
with strengthened force, inspired to continue voicing the truth with the
same resolute courage of the men whose intellectual conscience became
its missionary founders, I may be permitted the great honor of
wishing the continuance on its blessed way forever. This is the
heartfelt wish of a reader to whom it has been a guide and preserver.
With reverential respect,
Andrew Currie.
(From The New World, March 2.)
The March issue of The Catholic World marks the ccmipletion
of a cycle of fifty years since the first appearance of that publication.
The editors announce that a Jubilee number will appear next month
with articles and contributors to " fit such an exceptional occasion."
The Paulist Fathers are to be congratulated on having weathered
all the difficulties and discouragements facing Catholic editors and
publishers through so long a period. For fifty years they have wielded,
and still are wielding, a powerful weapon, both of contest and defence,
for the Catholic Church.
The March Catholic World has buried underneath a mass of
fiction, essay, and poetry, a timely article, Mexico for the Mexicans,
by Dudley G. Wooten. Unlike Mr. Lind's, Mr. Wooten's credentials
as an authority on Mexican affairs are vouched for by the editor.
The article is timely because, with a thousand tales of Mexico's
present and future before us, we have in all the discussions of the past
year heard little of the past of the Land of Revolution. (Exception
must here be taken to Mr. Lind's articles which appeared in the BeU-
man, and Dr. Kelly's commentary on the same.) Mr. Wooten pre-
sents Mexican history of Aztec, Spanish and Republican days, insisting
upon conditions in all that time that shaped the character of the
present-day Mexican. And just that character, he says, is what is
ignored in all our plans for Mexican pacification and readjustment. He
concludes that we must either " assume and enforce the right to control
Mexico" or rest contented with the watchword, "Mexico for the
Mexicans."
A Returning Caveman, by Edmund T. Shanahan, S.T.D., in the
same publication, is destined to jar the " futurists " and bring them
to a realization that what they are tending towards is just what the
142 SOME ADVANCE CONGRATULATIONS [April,
worid has been endeavoring to conquer since " stone age " days. There
IS relish in the thought of a congress of " modem intellectuals " having
this fact forced upon them by " a returning caveman."
(From The Catholic Columbian,)
The Catholic World, just to hand, is certainly a golden milestone
marking the passage of fifty years of sacred service to all the high and
holy purposes of Catholic literature. We have no other monthly that
has reached the age of fifty, and only three secular periodicals have
celebrated these rare jubilees. So the Paulists' work holds an unique
position in the world of letters. This great periodical certainly gives a
safe expression of our Faith, as it touches narrative, story or poem.
Eminent Paulists founded the magazine, and kindred spirits in zeal and
intellect perpetuate its high standing.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The Columbian congratulates The Catholic World, and wishes
it a continuance of popular favor as well as of true worth.
(From The Church Progress, March ii,)
The Church Progress extends its most generous and genuine con-
gratulations to The Catholic World on the completion of its fiftieth
year of uninterrupted publication. It is, indeed, a glorious record of
service, rich in results for God, for Church and for country.
The grand work it has done in these causes during its half-century
existence is beyond hiunan power to measure. Standing always for the
highest and holiest purposes, its influence in these directions has been
stupendous. Wise in its counsels, fair in its criticisms, and true in its
judgments, it has always been a safe guide and a good leader.
The Paulist Fathers — its publishers — ^have reason to be proud of
their success.
(From The Catholic News, March 13,)
The Catholic World, the able monthly magazine issued by
the Paulist Fathers, has just completed its fiftieth year of continued
publication. It is the oldest Catholic monthly in the United States,
and it is believed that there are only three secular magazines that may
claim a longer life. The Catholic World has had not only a long,
but a distinguished career. It was the first ambitious attempt to put
in practise the theory of Father Hecker and his brother Paulists that
printer's ink is a powerful force in the advancement of Christ's Church.
In its half-century the magazine has been directed by such scholarly
1915] BOOKS RECEIVED 143
.and earnest men as Father Hecker, Father Hewit, Father Elliott,
Father Doyle, and Father John J. Burke, the present occupant
of the editorial chair. The Catholic Wo^tLD is a credit to the Paulist
Fathers and the whole Catholic Church in this country. Let tis
hope that its second fifty years will be as fruitful as its first half-
-century.
We wish also to extend our thanks, for their congratulations and
good wishes, to The Southern Messenger, The Catholic Citizen, and
the San Francisco Monitor, — [Ed. C. W.]
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Parts VII., VIII. 35 cents. How To Help the Dead, By M. H. Allies.
40 cents. A Manual of Church History, By F. X. Funk. Two volumes.
•O. P. Pu
Putnam's Sons, New York:
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By fimile Fafuet. $1.25. Alsace and Lorraine, By Ruth Putnam. $1.25.
Select English Historical Documents of the Ninth and Tenth Centuries,
Edited by F. E. Harmer, BJi, $1.75 net.
D. Appleton & Co., New York:
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and £. Castle. $1.35 net. The War in Europe, By A. B. Hart. $1.00.
E. P. DuTTON & Co., New York :
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Built the Panama Canal f By W. L. Pepperman. $a.oo. Jesus and Politics,
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Poems, By R. H. Benson. 75 cents. Loneliness, By R. H. Benson. $1.35 net
Longmans, Green & Co., New York:
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to Freedom. By Rev. R. Kane, S.J. $1.50 net.
The America Press, New York:
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The American Book Co., New York:
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DoDD, Mead & Co., New York:
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The Neale Publishing Co., New York:
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Sturgis & Walton, New York:
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The Fatherland Corporation, New York :
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the Allied Powers is Just." Pamphlet. 10 cents.
International Catholic Truth Society, Brooklyn:
Holy Week Manual for the Catholic Laity. 10 cents.
144 BOOKS RECEIVED [April, 1915.]
Shbxman, French ft Co., Boston:
The Springtime of Love, and Other Poems. By A. E. Trombly. $1.25 net.
The Rediscovered Universe, By D. C Philips.
Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston:
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Chief Contemporary Dramatists. Edited by T. H. Dickinson. $2.75 net.
Angela's Business, By H. S. Harrison. $1.35 net.
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Government Printing Office, Washington, D. C:
Consolidation of Rural Schools and Transportation of Pupils at Public Bs-
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holUer. Educational Directory, 1914-13. Curricula in Mathematics. By J. C.
Brown. City Training Schools for Teachers. By F. A. Manny. Social and
Labor Needs of Farm Women. Cooking in the Vocational School as Training
for Home Making,
The Catholic Education Press, Washington, D. C:
History of Education. By P. J. McConnick, S.T.L.
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Forty-Sixth Annual Report,
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H. L. KiLNER & Co., Philadelphia :
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Tucker, S.J. Pamphlets. 5 cents each.
Office of the Irish Messenger, Dublin :
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Life of St, Patrick. By E. Leahy. The Soldier Priests of France, By Com-
tesse de Courson. St. Joseph. By Rev. J. McDonnell, S.J. Scenes from the
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Rev. J. Fitzpatrick. The Epistles of St. Paul to the Corinthians. By Rev.
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Copyright 1915. The Missionary Society of St. Paul the Apostle
IN THE State of New York.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
Vol. CI.
MAY, 191 5.
No. 602.
EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS.
BY EDMUND T. SHANAHAN, S.T.D.
I.
[VOLUTION and progress, we may as well say it at
the outset, are far from meaning one and the same
thing. The mistake of supposing these two terms
identical is responsible for much of the roseate op-
timism and false sense of security with which the
literature of the day is filled. Hope springs eternal in the human
breast, and in times of new discovery it is likely to run away with
judgment. The past appears a transcended period, and the future
a vast field of possibility which we shall yet explore to its farther-
most reach. How often have we heard it confidently proclaimed of
late, that the fates did not have another great war in their urn for a
humanity grown sober-minded and reflective; it was impossible in
this age of enlightenment to revert to barbarism; man's advancing
spirit would never turn back to beat ploughshares into swords;
these are economic times, and capital would disdain to lend itself
to the service of waste and destruction. Such things we have heard
and others of like import. Yet behold the stupendous tragedy in
Europe, a war well-nigh universal, now giving the lie direct to ex-
pectation. We have laid the flattering unction to our souls that
evolution and progress are identical movements; scarcely a book
Copsniglit. 1915.
VOL. a.—io
Tbb Missionary SoaBTV of St. Paul thb Apostlb
IN THs Stats op Nsw Yoek.
146 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [May,
has come steaming from the press in recent years that did not bid
us take heart and comfort from this smiling fallacy. But we have
had a rude awakening. The wide-flung doors of the temple of
Janus have shocked us back into the realization that the primitive
is still much nearer than the millennium.
It seems strange, when we inquire into the matter, that wc
should have grown so over-confident Nothing in the recent dis-
coveries of science or in the improved ways of dealing with social
problems, encourages the belief that the world is whirling on to
tmiversal betterment. The fact that evolution is the passing of
things from a simple to a more complex state of existence does not
necessarily imply that the passage is always one of perfection, and
yet this is the unsupported assumption on which we have raised
the unsubstantial fabric of a dream. It never seems to occur to us
rhapsodical folk, drunk with the new wine of speculation, that
decline is as clearly indicated in man's history as advance, and that
evolution may go on for centuries, as in the case of polytheism,
without so much as a beggarly inch of real progress to crown its
course.
Not even on the Darwinian supposition of the survival of the
fittest would it be true that the best survived. When the battle is to
the strong and the race to the swift, bulk of body and fleetness of
limb— no other qualities — ^need be the appanage of the victors. It
may be true that in every normal social group a spirit of reform
is brewing, but this fact does not justify a headlong leap to the
conclusion that the desire for reform is universal. The presence of
indifferent or actually resisting members in every group is an equally
patent fact which must be taken into account Wherever we look,
we find our over-optimistic conclusions challenged and tempered by
evidence to the contrary. The identity of evolution and progress
must not, therefore, be too hastily assumed. All progress is indeed
evolution, but not all evolution is progress. The terms are so far
from being convertible that they may indicate directions as opposite
and asunder as the poles.
Indifference and resistance, error and wrong, delusion and
prejudice, war and waste, narrowness of mind and hollowness
of soul, all these have their evolutions as well as truth and right,
thrift and peace, fair-mindedness and justice. He would be a
prejudiced observer indeed who failed to see that prejudice itself
evolves, like all things else. Neither in the parliaments of nations
nor in the council chamber of the individual mind do the ayes
ipiSl EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 147
always have it, and truth and right come forth triumphant from
the conflict of wits, all-panoplied to run an upward course. Decad-
ence has been known to enjoy its heyday of bloom quite as glow-
ingly as civilization, though its tenure of life be shorter and the
glitter of it all soon pales. There is no virtue or vice that cannot
be put through a new set of paces. Murder may develop into a
fine art, as De Quincey says, and thievery become so simple a means,
of transferring title to property as to do away with the embar-
rassing necessity of having the transfer legally recorded.
Evolution along the wrong road — what is to prevent it?
Eliminate from progress the essential feature of a right sense of
direction, and a man may take any path, mistaking it for the
roadway to perfection, even turning aside into the moorlands of
sense where will o' the wisps are flashing their messages of lure.
Then, too, without a proper sense of direction, it is possible to have
complete stagnation along the main line of advance, while all the
side-lines are a-hum with activity and light — ^the phosphorescence
of decay. Devious paths it is our privilege to follow, if we be so
minded, and nothing brought to light thus far would indicate that
we stand in any immediate danger of having the privilege with-
drawn.
It is all very well, then, to define evolution as the passing of
things from relatively simple stages to more complex conditions,
but it is all very wrong to assume, in consequence, that this always
means improvement, as if progress were bound to follow a straight
ascending line. History shows no sign that man has traveled
steadily upwards, and it cannot be rewritten to fit so overdrawn
an idealization as this. History simply refuses to be read in the
light of any such optimistic concept — ^more temperamental than
scientific, it would seem, in its origin and inspiring power. That
laws of progress exist, in the plural, none will be so foolhardy
to deny. But a law of progress, in the singtdar — one that takes
all men and things alike into its ameliorating sweep— such a sole
and solitary law as this is not known to philosophy or to history,
for the very good reason that there neither is nor can be one science
of man and nature.^
The current idea that progress is an automatic principle, work-
ing to improve us all in our own despite, could find credence only
with those who see no difference in quality between man and
^Hibbert Journal, April, 191 3. "Is there one Science of Nature?" By Pro-
fessor J. Arthur Thomson.
148 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [May,
metals. Such an attitude is bom of theory, not of observation.
Nature and human nature have not yet been reduced to a single
formula, nor is there any reason for believing that they ever will be.
Neither the view that matter is " mind-stuff," nor that other view
which declares mind matter and the world a huge machine, can
by any stretch of logic be set down as self-commending. Pan-
psychism and pan-mechanism are each built upon the other's leav-
ings. One takes matter and leaves spirit, the other takes spirit
and leaves matter, so that the unity at which each arrives is forced
and unnatural. The mechanist's way of thinking enjoys a wider
vogue just at present than the psychist's. The hour-glass of specu-
lation has been inverted, and the sands are running down from the
spiritual to the physical. There is altogether too much overlooking,
in recent literature and legislation, of the inner spiritual energies
that qualify the physical, and make man a real shaper of his destiny
— a cause, not a mechanical effect. When shall we recover from
the fallacy of considering man an upheaval of nature, like the
mountains and the hills? It is hard to say. At any rate, we are
so much given nowadays to polishing the outside of the human
cup that the interior, whence most of the social danger springs,
does not receive the scouring it should. What boots it if we save
man from all but that from which we most should try to save him —
himself ? For man is no machine, what though many of his actions
and habits be mechanical. He is a free being, and daily giving
evidence of the fact. The cause of truth and good is not served by
painting him in profile as a creature of heredity, the product of
environment, the resultant of preexisting forces and conditions.
All these may be limitations of the exercise of liberty — restrictions
of the area of free choice — ^but they are far from amoimting to an
extinction of the faculty itself. Man still makes or unmakes him-
self fully as often as circumstances make or mar him. We live
under " a reign of law," exclaims the social philosophers. We live
under " a rain of law," says a gentle, not unsympathetic critic in
rejoinder. One almost feels tempted to adopt the new spelling.
Progress has its rising and falling tides like the sea — its troughs
and crests, its backing and filling waters. One who has lived for
long by the ocean's edge knows how baffling a thing it is at times
to distinguish the outgoing from the incoming tide. The same race
of the undertow, apparently — ^the same lambency of wave, nay, the
same lace-like showers of spray mounting and tumbling upon the
cliffs, trouble the calculator's vision. His eye has to drop to the
1915.I EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 149
shore line where the wet or drying sands determine truth. The
student of the tides of history experiences a similar baffling of judg-
ment. It is easy to mistake man in his downward coursings for a
creature slowly but surely climbing to the stars. Especially is this
the case if one should start out with the assumption — created not
by the fact of evolution, but by theories concerning its nature — that
progress is a steadily rising tide that never ebbs. The demand of
proof is sure to create the supply in this instance as in others, and
the proof-hunter is likely to return from his search, as suspecting
folk invariably do, with a bagful of false discoveries. He will see
progress where it is not, and declare man facing forwards when his
back is really to the sun. Instances apparently to the contrary will
be turned into proof of his main assumption, everything marching
onwards and nothing turning back. A mind filled with the prejudg-
ment that progress is continuous and unbroken will find itself hum-
ming with the poet :
And I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs
And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
But poetry is not always history. If there be anything clearly
incapable of scientific establishment, it is this quantitative theory
of progress to which Tennyson gave classic expression in Locksley
HalL No such steady increase either of purpose or perfection is
discernible in the history of human thought, or anywhere else, for
that matter. Progress does indeed, nay, must, by its very nature,
add to the past and perfect it: we are not questioning the fact of
growth by addition, we are simply denying the theory that this
growth is a thing unfailing. Whatever progress be, therefore, it is
not a continuous rise. We do but cheat ourselves with words when
we portray progress as a stream increasing in volume from the ac-
cession of new freshets, the further away it flows from the original
springs.
History is more full of curves and tangents than of straight,
unswerving lines. Errando discimus. Like the Charles which
spells the last letter of its name in its meandering course, history no-
where runs true to preconception. There is lapse as well as rise,
retreat no less than advance. Humanity no more walks towards
perfection than it runs or crawls. We exegete metaphors and mis-
take the exegesis for historical description. The yardstick and the
tape will not do for measure, because progress is not a matter of
ISO EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [May,
inches, feet, or miles, but of improvement in outlook and in the
qualities of mind, heart, and will, which an expanded vision, whole-
heartedly accepted and translated into conduct, alone can bring.
Were progress really the constant mechanical law it is so often
said to be, there would be no law like it in the calendar for ineffec-
tiveness. It would have more defeats to its credit than victories,
more failures than fulfillings, and its only title to admission would
be the rather dubious one that it had all along been more honored in
the breach than in the observance. Even if we granted, for the
sake of argument, that man is a grain of star dust to which life and
reason, organization and will, came by chance — ^picked up, as it
were, along the way — ^his failure to remain true to type and obey
the laws of mechanics, as befits a dutiful child of atomic origin,
would constitute the scandal of the universe. Such disobedience,
such waywardness, was never known before.
But we are inclined to suspect that the advocates of mechanism
have mistaken uniformity for necessity, in their appeal to law as
ag^nst freedom. Science indeed tells us that nature is uniform,
and human nature, also, to a certain extent, but science does not say
that either is an iron-bound necessity; only philosophers of a cer-
tain type would dare go the length of making that assertion. We
would do well, therefore, to notice once for all that the absolute
necessity of the world of men and things is not a fact proclaimed by
science, but a theory proposed by certain philosophers who convert
the scientific statement. Nature is uniform, into the philosophical
thesis, Nature is necessary. Jevons has expressed this false conver-
sion of propositions in so telling a simile that we cannot forbear
reproducing it.
Let us imagine a game of chess in course of being played by
invisible players in presence of a scientific philosopher who
knows nothing about the game — or who assumes that he knows
nothing-»-except what his senses tell him.
What he sees will be simply material chess-men moving in
space. He may either consider them to be merely sense-
phenomena, merely affections or modifications of his sense of
sight and touch, or he may consider them to be real, material
things. In either case he makes an assumption. The latter
assumption leaves it quite an open question whether the reality
is something insentient or is the expression of conscious will.
The former precludes the question, i. e,, assumes that there is
neither conscious will nor insentient matter behind them.
1915] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 151
But in neither assumption is there anything to prevent the
philosopher in question from studying the movements of the
chess-men and the way in which at every move or mcmient they
are redistributed. At first their movements would probably be
rather bewildering; but in course of time he would note, we
may asstune, that Black never moved unless White had pre-
viously moved, and that any movement of White was followed
by one on the part of Black. He might therefore be tempted to
lay it down as a rule that Black never moved unless White
moved first — ^that an eflfect never occurred without a cause; and
that a movement of White was always followed by a move on
the part of Black — ^that a cause was always followed by its
eflfect. But if he yielded to this temptation he would be mak-
ing an assumption, for — inasmuch as he professes to know
nothing to beg^n with — ^he does not know that the pieces always
will move in this way; he only knows (assuming that memory
is not a mere delusion, as it may be, for anything he knows)
that they have moved thus, not that they always will move thus.
He may, however, assume that they will continue to move in
this way. But with every fresh assumption he becomes less
and less of an agnostic. He may, indeed, if he likes, further
assume, not only that the pieces will move in this way, but that
they must. This assumption does not, indeed, seem necessary;
for if we know (or assume that we know) that they will fol-
low this course, it seems superfluous to say that they must.
A closer study of the game would reveal — in addition to the
invariable sequence of Blacky White, Black — ^the fact that the
various pieces had various properties and moved in various
ways, some only one square at a time, some the whole length
of the board ; some diagonally, some parallel to the sides of the
board. Further, our philosopher would observe that each piece
when it moved tended to move according to its own laws: in
the absence of counteracting causes, e, g,, unless somt other piece
blocked the way, a bishop tended to move diagonally the whole
length of the board. As a man of science, he would state these
observed uniformities in the hypothetical form rightly adopted
by science : if a castle moves it tends to move in such and such
a w^. Thus eventually he would be able to foretell, whenever
any piece htgasi to move, what direction it tended, in the
absence of counteracting causes, to take. He might not, in-
deed, be able to say beforehand which of White's pieces would
move in reply to Black, but his knowledge of the game would
eventually become so scientific that he would be prepared for
most contingencies, i. e., be able to say approximately where any
15^ EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [May,
piece would move if it did move. That knowledge could be
attained without making any assumption as to whether free-
will or necessity was the motive force expressed in the game;
and it would be equally valid whichever of the two assumptions
he chose to make. His science would have nothing to hope or
fear from either assiunption.*
All of which goes clearly to show — ^be it noted, for this is the
point — ^that laws and regularities, so far from being incompatible
with purpose in nature, are actually, the very channels, means, and
instruments through which purpose finds expression and is carried
out. The emergence of the world from the original fire-mist into
the distinct order, beauty, and arrangement which it has to-day
would, if true, be as cogent an argtunent for finality as that drawn
from special instances. The dire consequences apprehended from
the theory of natural selection all dissolve as if by magic in this
larger view. Purpose is seen to be purpose still, whether it work
its ends out slowly through mechanical agencies, as in the case of
natural selection, or at once and in a flash. All purely physical
explanations are, therefore, superficial and incomplete. It is in-
defensible to claim that human variability is reducible to absolute
and mechanical necessity. The history of man should not be treated
as if it were a problem in pure mechanics — ^a part of the field of
higher mathematics. It has its automatic side, undoubtedly, this
problem of man, but not such by any means as to shake one's faith
in himian freedom. Psychology is not physics, nor men machines.
It is time we were done so speaking as if everything that was or ever
will be were resolvable into matter and motion.
From floating elements in chaos hurl'd,
Self-formed of atoms, sprang the infant world:
No great First Cause inspired the happy plot,
But all was matter — ^and no matter what.
Atoms, attracted by some law occult,
Settling in spheres, the globe was the result:
Pure child of Chance, which still directs the ball.
As rotatory atoms rise or fall.
In ether launched, the peopled bubble floats,
A mass of particles, and confluent motes,
So nicely poised, that if one atom flings
Its weight away, aloft the planet springs,
* Evolution. By F. R. Jcvons, pp. 175, 176, 179, 180.
I9IS.] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 153
And wings its course through realms of boundless space,
Outstripping comets in eccentric race.
Add but one atom more, it sinks outright,
Down to the realms of Tartarus and night.
Or this, in more serious vein, from Arbuthnot :
What am I? How produced, and for what end?
Wherefore drew I being ? To what period tend ?
Am I the abandoned orphan of blind chance?
Dropped by wild atoms in disordered dance?
Or from an endless chain of causes wrought.
And of unthinking substance, born with thought?
By motion which began without a Cause,
Supremely wise, without design or laws.
It is only within recent years, comparatively speaking, that at-
tempts have been made to discover a formula for progress, and
with indifferent success. The formulas vary from the circle, the
vertical line, and the spiral, to the wave, the curve, and the germ.
Vico revived the ancient circular theory — so distasteful to St. Au-
gustine — that progress is nothing more than the doubling-back of
men and things, in perpetual roimd, upon their original tracks.
There is nothing new under the sun. All things return whence they
came, to go forth again upon the same unending journey. Sisyphus
rolling his huge stone up the hill, only to see it roll back again to the
valley every time he reached the top, typified this conception in the
nether world of the ancients. Of a piece with this was the excuse
a bright lad gave for his absence from school on a stormy day. It
was slippery; and with every step taken forward he slipped back
three, the result being that he found himself home again, notwith-
standing all his efforts to advance. Goethe did not like the cir-
cularity theory of progress, and said so plainly; but he did not
wholly escape, from its pessimistic clutch ; he merely retouched the
notion, made it more elastic, so to speak, when he compared man's
course in history to the ever-widening circle of ripples which one
sometimes sees ruffling the bosom of a pool, as if some mysterious
kind of spider were there at work, weaving a watery web of vast
dimensions.
Then came the champions of the vertical theory, with their con-
ception of progress as regular and continuous — ever up and on.
But a man had to forget that history is full of ruin, failure, lapse,
IS4 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [May,
and thwarted achievement, before he fcould accept so iridescent a
dream of human perfectibility as this; and the consequence was
that the coil theory soon displaced the vertical — ^progress is a
road that winds in spirals like a screw-thread. But Tylor who
proposed this view was evidently not satisfied with the analogy
chosen. He saw fit later to change the comparison from a spiral
to that of a column of smoke slowly curling in a thin ribbon heaven-
wards, after hovering for a while, as if undecided, about the parent
fire. The wave theory had its adherents, too, and, truth to say,
it fits the facts of history more closely than either of the last two
mentioned, being less stiff and geometrical than they, and more in
accord with man's varying moods and tenses. For there is some-
thing of the sea and its restlessness unquestionably about him,
something of its mounting and tumbling waters in his periodic rise
and fall.
Last, but not least, came the germ theory: progress is organic
— the unfolding of a germ. There is much to be said in favor of this
formula, much also to be said against it. Acceptable when its sense
is defined, determined, and limited, it becomes the veriest of inven-
tions when made to stand for unlimited possibility. A definite
germ, say, of man or beast, of flower or plant, the dullest of us
may understand. But a germ of such indefinite nature, such un-
limited possibility that, though in itself next to nothing, it is none
the less capable of becoming ever3rthing, all the way up from amoeba
to man, and beyond even him to a superior grade of being ytt to be
— a germ of this plenipotentiary kind would be a more stupendous
miracle than any of those which religion asks us to accept. It is
inconceivable to the understanding, however much it may fill the
imagination with insidious deceit and false suggestion. Indefinite
progress — ^the idea, namely, that we shall eventually come to know
all truth and to compass every good — is gnosticism and optimism run
wild. As thus proposed, the germ theory is the old vertical theory
in disguise — translated from the terms of geometry into those of
biology, and no better in the translation than in the original. We
must not imagine that we are entirely out of the woods of analogy
and metaphor when we speak of progress as a " germ." The com-
parison may lead us into the supposition, already shown to be
groundless, that human progress is a long lane that knows no
turning.
Theories apart, the fact unmistakably revealed in history is
that man has two tendencies. in his constitution — ^a downward and
1915] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 155
an upward. These forni a duality which, try as we may, we cannot
reduce to unity. Organic as man's nature is, his powers are not
organized for harmonious interaction. His reason is subject to the
invasion of the senses, and his will may prove a reed in the winds
of passion. And whether or not you admit that this disorganiza-
tion is the result of original sin, as the Christian doctrine of man
proclaims, you must acknowledge the fact, whatever explanation be
adopted, and take it into account in your theory of progress.
One might even go further, without fear of successful contra-
diction, and say that the philosophical methods of the last three
centuries have increased this disorganization a hundredfold, by
forbidding all intercourse between faith and knowledge, intellect
and sense, science and religion, ethics and economics. Has it been
a help or a hindrance to progress, this turning of man's mind into
a house still more divided ? The question will be answered in due
course. But before quitting this part of our theme which has to do
with the formulas of progress, let us add to those already mentioned
one that appealed to St. Augustine as a true and just description.
He says that man's gait appears " lame and halting " all through
history, in consequence of the wound inflicted upon him by original
sin.' One might easily go further and fare worse than by adopting
this analogy.
From what we know of man's disorganized constitution and
halting course in history, it is plainly apparent that his progress has
been by fits and starts, not by layer on layer and tier on tier of
steady achievement the ages through. So far from being ordinary
and regular, progress is a rare and exceptional fact, thus standing
out in marked contrast to the universal process of evolution. Hu-
manity has clung to dead levels, it has fallen to rise, and risen to
fall again, repeatedly. This fact of intermittency is acknowledged
by men of all schools of thought in their more disciplined moods.
But, strange to say, the admission does not seem to have any
practical influence on their thought or writings. * These still proceed
on the supposition that the newest is the truest, the latest unfailingly
the best. The progressiveness of an idea, principle, or institution
is determined by the date of its appearance, the time of its emergence
in human consciousness. In other words, progress is still regarded
as a constant law of improvement. Kant's philosophy is thus made
to appear as a marked advance over all others, and the principle
* Contra lulianum. Lib. V. lUo vuinere factum est ut totum genus claudicaret
kumanum.
156 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [May,
of religious indifference as a higher level of thought than that of
positive religion!
So many instances of this complacent self-assurance are cur-
rent, that this study was undertaken to point some of them out, and
to stir up a spirit of criticism against the things we take for granted
and regard as "critically established." Fixed notions control us
to a greater extent than we imagine or care to avow, and good may
come from a realization of the fact We have associated with
progress many notions and principles which, so far from being
stepping-stones to higher things, and landmarks of man's journey
upwards, are cases, rather, of failure to develop. The remainder
of this study will accordingly be devoted to a consideration of
special instances. The idea of progress will define itself through
concrete example and illustration as the subject unfolds, and this,
we hope, will prove a more effective way of handling the theme
than if we started out with a definition and hewed down all dis-
senters. After all, it is not so much results that count as the
processes of reaching them. The best method of teaching is indub-
itably that which makes the listener see and recognize the truth,
before the teacher has actually stated it for him in formal proposi-
tions. It was the Master's way.
COaPERATION A PARTIAL SOLVENT OF CAPITALISM,
BY JOHN A. RYAN, D.D.
INTEREST IS not a reward for labor. The majority
of interest receivers do, indeed, expend productive
energy, as wage earners, salaried employees, directors
of industry, or members of the professions ; but for
these social services they obtain specific and distinct
compensation. They get interest solely in their capacity as owners
of capital, independently of any personal activity. From the view-
point of economic distribution, therefore, interest is a " workless
income." As such, it seems to challenge that ethical conception
which relates reward to effort, and looks upon income derived from
any other source either as not perfectly normal, or as requiring
explanation. Moreover, the modem practice of interest taking
enlarges and tends to perpetuate serious economic inequalties, and
absorbs a very large part of the national income. And yet, interest
cannot be wholly abolished. As long as capital remains in private
hands, the owners thereof will demand and obtain interest. The
only alternative is Socialism, and Socialism would bring in more
evils than it would eliminate. May not the burdens and disadvan-
tages of interest be mitigated or minimized? Conceivably this
could occur in two ways : the sum total of interest payments might
be reduced, and the incomes derived from interest might be more
widely distributed.
No considerable diminution of the amotmt of interest can be
expected through a lowering of its rate. As far back as the middle
of the eighteenth century, Holland and England were able to borrow
money at three per cent. During the period that has since inter-
vened, the rate has varied from three to six. Between 1870 and
1900, it declined by almost two per cent, but has risen about one
per cent since the latter date. The European war now in progress
is destroying an enormous amount of capital, and will undoubtedly
be followed by a marked rise in the rate of interest. Such has been
the invariable result of great military conflicts. On the other hand,
the only definite grounds upon which a decline in the rate can be
expected are either tmcertain or tmimportant. They are : the rapid
158 COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM [May,
increase of capital, and the extension of government ownership and
operation of natural monopolies.
The first is uncertain in its effects upon the rate of interest,
because the increased supply of capital is often neutralized by the
process of substitution. That is, a large part of the new capital
does not compete with and bring down the price of the old capital.
Instead, it is absorbed in new inventions, new types of machinery,
and new processes of production, all of which take the place of
labor, thus tending to increase rather than diminish the demand for
capital and the rate of interest. To be sure, the demand for capital
thus arising has not always been sufficient to offset the enlarged
supply. Since the industrial revolution, capital has, at certain pe-
riods and in certain regions, increased so rapidly that it could not
all find employment in new forms and in old forms at the old rate.
In some instances a decline in the rate of interest can be clearly
traced to the disproportionately quick growth of capital. But this
phenomenon has been far from uniform, and there is no indication
that it will become so in the future. The possibilities of the process
of substitution have been by no means exhausted.
The effects of government ownership are even more problem-
atical. States and cities are, indeed, able to obtain capital more
che2q)ly than private corporations for such public utilities as rail-
ways, telegraphs, tramways, and street lighting; and public owner-
ship of all such concerns will probably become general in the not
remote future. Nevertheless, the social gain is not likely to be
proportionate to the reduction of interest on this section of capital.
A part, possibly a considerable part, of the saving in interest will be
neutralized by the lower efficiency and greater cost of operation;
for, in this respect, publicly managed are inferior to privately man-
aged enterprises. Consequently, the charges to the public for the
services rendered by these utilities cannot be reduced to the same
degree as the rate of interest on the capital. On the other hand,
the exclusion of private operating capital from this very large field
of public utilities should increase competition among the various
units of capital, and thus bring down its rewards. To what extent
this would happen cannot be estimated, even approximately. The
only safe statement is that the decline in the general rate of interest
would probably be slight.
The main hope of lightening the social burden of interest lies in
the possible reduction in the necessary volume of capital, and espe-
cially in a* wider distribution of interest-incomes. In many parts
ipiSl COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM IS9
of the industrial field there is a considerable waste of capital through
imnecessary duplication. This means that a large amount of un-
necessary interest is paid by the consumer in the form of unneces-
sarily high prices. Again, the owners of capital and receivers of
interest constitute only a minority of the population in all countries,
with the possible exception of the United States. The great major-
ity of the wage earners in all lands possess no capital, and obtain
no interest. Not only are their incomes small, often pitiably small,
but their lack of capital deprives them of the security, confidence,
and independence which are required for comfortable existence and
efficient citizenship. They have no income from productive prop-
erty to protect them against the cessation of wages. During periods
of unemployment they are frequently compelled to have recourse to
charity, and to forego many of the necessary comforts of life. So
long as the bulk of the means of production remains in the hands
of a distinct capitalist class, this demoralizing insecurity of the
workers must continue as an essential part of our industrial system.
While it might conceivably be eliminated through a comprehensive
scheme of state insurance, this arrangement would substitute de-
pendence upon the state for dependence upon the capitalist, and be
much less desirable than ownership of income-bearing property.
The workers who possess no capital do not enjoy a normal and
reasonable degree of independence, self-respect, or self-confidence.
They have not sufficient control over the wage contract and the other
conditions of employment, and they have nothing at all to say con-
cerning the goods that they shall produce or the persons to whom
their product shall be sold. They lack the incentive to put forth their
best efforts in production. They cannot satisfy adequately the in-
stinct of property, the desire to control some of the determining
forms of material possession. They are deprived of that conscious-
ness of power which is generated exclusively by property, and which
contributes so powerfully toward the making of a contented and
efficient life. They do not possess a normal amount of freedom in
polJtics, nor in those civic and social relations which lie outside the
economic and political spheres of industry and politics. In a word,
the worker without capital has not sufficient power over the ordering
of his own life.
The most effective means of lessening the volume of interest,
and bringing about a wider distribution of capital is to be found in
cooperative enterprise. Cooperation in general denotes the unified
action of a group of persons for a common end. A church, a
i6o COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM [May,
debating club, a joint stock company, exemplifies cooperation in this
sense. In the strict and technical sense, it has received various
definitions. Professor Taussig declares that it " consists essentially
in getting rid of the managing employer;" but this description is
applicable only to cooperatives of production. " A combination of
individuals to economize by buying in common, or increase their
profits by selling in common,''^ is likewise too narrow, since it fits
only distributive and agricultural cooperation. According to C.
R. Fay, a cooperative society is " an association for the purpose of
joint trading, originating among the weak, and conducted always in
an unselfish spirit." If the word " trading " be stretched to com-
prehend manufacturing as well as commercial activities, Fay's defi-
nition is fairly satisfactory. The distinguishing circumstance,
" originating among the weak," is also emphasized by Father Pesch
in his statement that the essence, aim, and meaning of cooperation
are to be found in " a combination of the economically weak in
common efforts for the security and betterment of their condition."*
In order to give proper connotation for our purpose, we shall define
cooperation as that joint economic action which seeks to obtain
for a relatively weak group all or part of the profits and interest
which in the ordinary capitalist enterprise are taken by a smaller and
different group of persons. This formula puts in the foreground the
important fact that in every form of cooperative effort, some interest
or profits, or both, are diverted from those who would have received
them under purely capitalistic arrangements, and distributed among
a larger number of persons. Thus it indicates the bearing of co-
operation upon the problem of lightening the social burden of
interest.
From the viewpoint of economic function, cooperation may
be divided into two general kinds, producers' and consumers'. The
best example of the former is a wage earners' productive society;
of the latter, a cooperative store. Credit cooperatives and agri-
cultural cooperatives fall mainly under the former head, inasmuch
as their principal object is to assist production, and to benefit
men as producers rather than as consumers. Hence from the view-
point of type, cooperation may be classified as credit, agricultural,
distributive, and productive.
A cooperative credit society is a bank controlled by the persons
who patronize it, and lending on personal rather than material
security. Such banks are intended almost exclusively for the rela-
^ Encyclopedia Britannica, 'Lehrbuch der Nationaloekonomie, III., 517.
igiS.] COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM i6i
tively helpless borrower, as the small farmer, artisan, shopkeeper,
and the small man generally. Fundamentally they are associations
of neighbors who combine their resources and their credit in order
to enable their members to obtain loans on better terms than are
accorded by the ordinary commercial banks. The capital is derived
partly from the sale of shares of stock, partly from deposits, and
partly from borrowed money. In Germany, where credit associa-
tions have been more widely extended and more highly developed
than in any other country, they are of two kinds, named after their
respective founders, Schulze-Delitzsch and Raiffeisen. The former
operates chiefly in the cities, serves the middle classes rather than the
very poor, requires all its members to subscribe for capital stock,
commits them to a long course of saving, and thus develops their
interest as lenders. The Raiffeisen societies have, as a rule, very
little share capital, exist chiefly in the country districts, especially
among the poorest of the peasantry, are based mostly on personal
credit, and do not profess to encourage greatly the saving and
lending activities of their members. Both forms of association
loan money to their members at lower rates of interest than these
persons could obtain elsewhere. Hence credit cooperation directly
reduces the burden of interest.
The Schulze-Delitzsch societies have more than half a million
members in the cities and towns of Germany, sixty per cent of whom
take advantage of the borrowing facilities. The Raiffeisen banks
comprise about one-half of all the independent German agricultur-
ists. Some form of cooperative banking is well established in every
important country of Europe, except Denmark and Great Britain.
In the former country its place seems to be satisfactorily filled by
the ordinary commercial banks. Its absence from Great Britain is
apparently due to the credit system provided by the large land-
holders, to the scarcity of peasant proprietors, and to general lack
of initiative. It is especially strong in Italy, Belgium, and Austria,
and it has made a promising beginning in Ireland. In every cotmtry
in which it has obtained a foothold, it gives indication of steady
and continuous progress. Nevertheless it is subject to definite limits.
It can never make much headway among that class of persons whose
material resources are sufficiently large and palpable to command
loans on the usual terms offered by the commercial banks. As a
rule, these terms are quite as favorable as those available through
the cooperative credit associations. It is only because the poorer
men cannot obtain loans from the commercial banks on the prevail-
voL, a.— J I
i6o COOPERATION A^^^ ^
debating cluh - " ^^j^/r^^^^'
.^/'^'^^
rr/^y^'^^ ^course to the CO.
sens
def ^^^^^''^ ///^/^^^
in ^^5 />^^^ ^'''^ ^"^ /^/«^ cooperative societies are
ing ^fS^'^^'"^^^^^^^ In the first-named
^^Th^^''^%rked''^' ^^^^^^ the cooperative dairy. The
^juuif^^'^^'^'Ti'^P^'^^^ Itock or shares of the concern, and in
^d ^^f^^vtrfi ho^^ ^%l profits in proportion to the amount of
oivfj^/^ ft? diy^^^^^^j ^^^In Ireland and some other countries, a
^^l!^%^^ ^^e/ ^^^^L^s to the employees of the dairy as a dividend
'^'rdoo of the P''^ ^^^ctive cooperatives of agriculture are found
^wBgeS' ^^^g^ bacon curing, distilling and wine making. All
in cheese tn ' ^^ ^^^^ general principles as the cooperative
^re conducted
^^^'^ u^h the marketing societies and purchasing societies, the
are enabled to sell their products to better advantage, and
btain materials needed for carrying on agricultural operations
ore cheaply than would be possible by isolated individual action.
Some of the products marketed by the selling societies are eggs,
niilk, poultry, fruit, vegetables, live stock, and various kinds of
grain. The purchasing societies supply for the most part manures,
seeds, and machinery. Occasionally they buy the most costly ma-
chinery in such a way that the association becomes the corporate
owner of the implements. In these cases the individual members
have only the use of the machines, but they would be unable to
enjoy even that advantage were it not for the intervention of the
cooperative society. Where such arrangements exist, the society
exemplifies not only cooperative buying, but cooperative ownership.
Agricultural cooperation has become most widely extended in
Denmark, and has displayed its most striking possibilities in Ireland.
Relatively to its population, the former country has more farmers
in cooperative societies, and has derived more profit therefrom
than any other nation. The rapid growth and achievements of
agricultural cooperation in the peculiarly unfavorable circumstances
of Ireland constitute the most convincing proof to be found any-
where of the essential soundness and efficacy of the movement.
Various forms of rural cooperative societies are solidly established
in Germany, France, Belgium, Italy, and Switzerland. In recent
years the movement has made some progress in the United States,
especially in relation to dairies, grain elevators, the marketing of
live stock and fruit, and various forms of rural insurance. The
cooperative insurance companies effect a saving to the Minnesota
1915] COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM 163
farmers of seven hundred thousand dollars annually, and the coop-
perative elevators handle about thirty per cent of the grain marketed
in that State.
The transformation in the rural life of more than one Euro-
pean community through cooperation, has amounted to little less
than a revolution. Higher standards of agricultural products and
production have been set up and maintained, better methods of
farming have been inculcated and enforced, and the whole social,
moral, and civic life of the people has been raised to a higher
level. From the viewpoint of material gain, the chief benefits of
agricultural cooperation have been the elimination of unnecessary
middlemen, and the economics of buying in large quantities, and
selling in the best markets, and employing the most efficient imple-
ments. As compared with farming conducted on a large scale, the
small farm possesses certain advantages, and is subject to certain
disadvantages. It is less wasteful, permits greater attention to
details, and makes a greater appeal to the self-interest of the culti-
vator; but the small farmer cannot afford to buy the best machinery,
nor is he in a position to carry on to the best advantage the com-
mercial features of his occupation, such as, borrowing, buying, and
marketing. Cooperation frees him from all these handicaps. "The
cooperative community is one in which groups of htunble men
combine their efforts, and to some extent their resources, in order to
secure for themselves those advantages in industry which the masters
of capital derive from the organization of labor, from the use of
costly machinery, and from the economics of business when done on
a large scale. They apply in their industry the methods by which the
fortunes of the magnates in commerce and manufacture are made."
These words, uttered by a prominent member of the Irish coopera-
tive movement, summarize the aims and achievements of agricul-
tural cooperation in every country of Europe in which it has
obtained a strong foothold. In every such community the small
farm has gained at the expense of the large farm system. Finally,
agricultural cooperation reduces the burden of interest by eliminat-
ing some unnecessary capital, stimulates saving among the tillers
of the soil by providing a ready and safe means of investment,
and in manifold ways contributes materially toward a better dis-
tribution of wealth.
Gxiperative stores are organized by and for constuners. In
every country they follow rather closely the Rochdale system, so-
called from the English town in which the first store of this kind
i64 COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM [May,
was established in 1844. The members of the cooperative society
furnish the capital, and receive thereon interest at the prevailing
rate, usually five per cent. The stores sell goods at about the same
prices as their privately owned competitors, but return a dividend
on the purchases of all those customers who are members of the
society. The dividends are provided from the surplus which re-
mains after wages, interest on the capital stock, and all other ex-
penses have been paid. In some cooperative stores non-members
receive a dividend on their purchases at half the rate accorded to
members of the society, but only on condition that these payments
shall be invested in the capital stock of the enterprise. And the
members themselves are strongly urged to make this disposition of
their purchase-dividends. Since the latter are paid only quarterly,
the cooperative store exercises a considerable influence toward
inducing its patrons to save and to become small capitalists.
In Great Britain the vast majority of the retail stores have been
federated into two great wholesale societies, one in England and the
other in Scotland. The retail stores provide the capital, and par-
ticipate in the profits according to the amounts purchased, just as the
individual consumers furnish the capital and share the profits of the
retail establishments. The Scottish Wholesale Society divides a
part of the profits among its employees. Besides their operations
as jobbers, the wholesale societies are bankers for the retail stores,
and own and operate factories, farms, warehouses, and steamships.
Many of the retail cooperatives likewise carry on productive enter-
prises, such as milling, tailoring bread making, and the manufacture
of boots, shoes, and other commodities; and some of them build,
sell, and rent cottages, and lend money to members who desire
to obtain homes.
The cooperative store movement has made greatest progress in
its original home. Great Britain. In 1910 about one person in
every four was to some degree interested in or a beneficiary of these
institutions. The profits of the stores amounted to about sixty
million dollars, which was some thirty-five or forty per cent on the
capital. Their employees numbered more than one hundred and
twenty-five thousand. The English Wholesale Society was the
largest flour miller and shoe manufacturer in Great Britain, and
its total business amounted to one hundred and thirty million dollars.
Outside of Great Britain, cooperative distribution has been most
successful in Germany, Belgium, and Switzerland. It has had a
fair measure of development in Italy, but has failed to assume any
1915] COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM 165
importance in France. " There is every sign that within the near
future — except in France — the stores will come to include the great
majority of the wage-earning dass, which is a constantly growing
percentage of the total population."' Within recent years a re-
spectable number of stores have been established on a sound basis
in Canada and the United States. Owing, however, to the marked
individualism and the better economic conditions of these two coun-
tries, the cooperative movement will continue for some time to be
relatively slow.
As in the case of agricultural cooperation, the money benefits
accruing to the members of the cooperative stores consist mainly of
profits rather than interest In the absence of the store societies,
these profits would have gone for the most part to middlemen as
payments for the risks and labor of conducting privately owned
establishments. Forty-seven of the sixty million dollars profits of
the British cooperative stores in 1 910 were divided among more than
two and one-half million members of these institutions, instead of
going to a comparatively small number of private merchants. The
other thirteen million dollars were interest on the capital stock.
Had the members invested an equal amount in other enterprises they
could, indeed, have obtained about the same rate and amount of
interest; but in the absence of the cooperative stores their induce-
ments and opportunities to save would have been much smaller.
For it must be kept in mind that a very large part of the capital stock
in the cooperative stores is derived from the members* dividends
on their purchases at such stores, and would not have come into
existence at all without these establishments. The gains of the
cooperative stores, whether classified as profits or as interest, are
evidently a not inconsiderable indication of a better distribution of
wealth.
'Fay, Cooperation at Home and Abroad, p. 340.
[to be concluded.]
VALENCIA, AND MAT.
BY GRANT SHOWERMAN.
HE Huerta, warm and content in the sun — Valencia's
luxuriant garden-plain, with everywhere the fresh,
cool water of life coursing through the canals,
arteries to the ruddy soil! Among tiny fields of
growing green plants and plots of bearded grain
already turning to gold, the orange and lemon rise opaque, and the
pomegranate, bright with flame-like flowers. The little barracas,
with gleaming whitewashed walls and gray thatched roofs and
crosses on steep gables, sit brooding peacefully among olives and figs.
Valencia, with blue-tiled domes, and ruddy roofs and towers,
and cheerful white and tinted walls, rising in a bower of planes
from the bosom of the Huerta! Valencia, and May — ^with leafy
plazas and shady gardens, and graceful white kiosks where cooling
drinks are dispensed by pleasant- faced women with flowers in their
hair, and quiet people, soft-stepping and sandal-shod, moving
through genial streets in a fragrant atmosphere.
Valencia, and May, and the moon — the moon of Valencia!
" And Greece, poor little Greece," so runs a line in the Barcelona
press, " la Grecia se quedd con la luna de Valencia — Greece came off
with the moon of Valencia ! " — with much of brightness and glory,
but little of substance. But who would not think Valencia's moon
a prize worth warring for? — ^hanging high and cool, throwing tliick,
black shadows under the orange trees, setting the sea a-sparkle with
dancing light, turning the harbor and the Lake of the Albufera
to sheets of silver, and dropping balmy benediction on the sleeping
town.
Valencia, and May, and the sereno! In some of the more
old-fashioned cities of Spain— so you are warned — ^your rest may be
disturbed by the sereno, calling the hours of night. You have
been thus disturbed — in quaint old many-towered Avila — and to
your deep delight; and here again, in Valencia, you are waked
at two by the measured and long-drawn chant :
Son las dos: se-re^no!
ipiS-l VALENCIA, AND MAY 167
A minute more, and the light fall of the hempen-sandalled foot
is lost, and the next cry comes faint from beyond the nearest
comer, like a disembodied voice. And again, at half-past three:
Son las ires y trein-ta: se-re-no!
Ah, blest disturbance! You turn in bed, half-conscious, and with a
smile fall asleep once more in the arms of poesy.
Valencia, and May, and the eve of Corpus Christi ! To-day at
noon will peal the bells of all Valencia's sanctuaries, the innumerable
explosions of the long traca will come careering up the street,
and the cavalcade will follow; and to-morrow, at six of the evening,
the Sacred Host will be borne along in the greatest of Valen-
cia's processions. The huge Giants and the Roques are already
under the awnings in the Cathedral Plaza, the cynosure of
thousands of pairs of Valencian eyes. And to-day, too, is the
Fiesta del Rosal, the Festival of the Rose-tree — ^ Valencian Arbor
Day.
ValencianosI the proclamation runs, in language native to none
but Mediterranean shores :
ValenciansI The Circle of the Fine Arts bids you forth to
the Fiesta del Rosal, to take place on Wednesday, the twenty-
first of May, at four of the afternoon.
'Twill be a feast of the open heart, and for it you must
clothe with white your souls, unrobing them of every manner
of hardness.
A number of little maids, hundreds of little maids, like a
cortege of white lilies, will pass beneath your balconies. It is
May, it is Valencia: in their hands they will carry rose-trees,
which they will plant at the foot of the statue of the greatest
of our geniuses. With them will pass poesy.
Make gay with flowers your abodes, and let the Festival of
the Rose-tree be like the song of a city that smiles at the kisses
of the sun, flowering out with pride each year in a springtime
of women and roses.
11.
Valencia, and May, and Corpus Christi ! " We find ourselves
in the classic day of Valencia," says the morning press. The rising
of the golden sun, over sea and harbor and Huerta, is greeted by the
pealing of all the bells in all Valencia's temples. In the cool of the
early forenoon is the Fiesta del Clavel — the Feast of the Carnation,
at home in Valencia as nowhere else in all the world. Charming
i68 VALENCIA, AND MAY [May,
sefioritas in mantillas fill the streets with the color and fragrance of
their floral burdens, in charity's name selling their wares to a popu-
lation that could not resist if it would, and would not if it could.
And then to the great cathedral and to all the parishes, where
the solemn rite is performed in dim, religious light made still more
dim and mystic by clouds of rising incense, and where shafts of
warm color from storied windows penetrate the cool obscurity, and
touch with purple and red the gold-embroidered robe of the min-
istrant. The rich and the poor kneel together — ^to-day not on the
marble pavement, but on a carpet of holy verdure that softens all
the floor and charges the air with fragrance.
Again, at noon, the clamor of every bell as that in the lofty
Miguelete signals the hour of twelve; again, the countless explo-
sions along the fuse that marks the route of the coming cavalcade —
an uproarious career of noise that leaves a train of smoke and excite-
ment, and little Valencians trying in vain to equal its pace ; later,
the cavalcade itself once more, between long masses of upturned
faces that have patiently scanned the length of the street for an
hour past. There are banners and bands, and mtmimers and
maskers bringing back the Middle Age; and there is the venerable
Chaplain, bravely bestride his horse despite the white hair of eighty
years, pronouncing the sacred invitation to all the city. There is
the Mystery of the Flight into Egypt, with Joseph in halo, and
little Mary in blue and white and lace, with stars on her robe and
the Child in her arms, and the Three Magi with all their brilliant
retinue, and more bands and banners, and the city's great men in
carriages, preceded by ushers with mighty wigs and ponderous
maces, and the Commander-in-Chief and the Governor, and knights-
at-arms, and the Car of Valencia, full of rosy-cheeked Valencian
girls who shower confetti on delighted crowds as they pass.
And then home to lunch — or, at least, to a short siesta; for
eating matters little to-day — ^and out again to Vespers; and then
to the plaza at half-past four to see the Roques begin their solemn
progress through the city after the two days' waiting under the
awnings that screen them from the sun — the Roques, that have
figured in this same wise on this same day for hundreds of years :
the Purisima, life-size in blue on a giant car with Mary Magdalen,
and the Trinity on another car; and Faith, and Valencia, and
Fame ; and St. Vincent, the great Valencian priest, and St. Michael ;
and Pluto, a hideous monster with trident, committing Envy, and
Avarice, and all their like, to everlasting fires.
1915.I VALENCIA, AND MAY 169
When the Rogues have passed — slowly, as becomes their hoary
age and immensity, and their dignity as teachers of the Truth — ^an
interval elapses before the greatest procession of all. The crowd
melts partiaJly away, and promenaders fill the streets. But it is not
long before the throngs along the well-known route begin to thicken
again, and window and balcony begin to blossom out in faces.
Soldiers pass, and commence to form a lane. A monster two- wheeled
cart rolls by at snail-like pace, men strewing the pavement from it
with the holy herb like that on the great cathedral floor, and
files of soldiers keep free from promenaders the space it clears in
passing.
At six, the lane is complete, and the lines of blue and red that
are topped with bayonets face each other across the fragrant empty
space, with dense expectant throngs pressing close at their backs.
Above, the windows frame clusters of faces, and the flowering out
of balconies is finished now — ^in women and girls with roses and
carnations in their hair, and lilies in their bosoms, and dancing eyes,
and teeth that gleam through the curving lines of smiling red lips.
There is little noise, and no impatience, and little restlessness.
There are no explosions of gaiety. You could not call it even
merriment. It is only Valencian joy.
And now, suddenly, from the near-by comer comes the call
of bugles. There is a lull in the soft laughter of the crowd, and a
murmur of expectation takes its place. With soldiers leading the
way, the first banners emerge from the dimness of the narrow street,
and are seen advancing, as if unaided, above the heads of the popu-
lace. Behind them come dwarfs with monstrous grotesque masks,
and following these, in wondrous contrast, the giants that stood in
the plaza with the Rogues — ^huge figures fifteen feet high, portraying
different races, all in proper attitude and garb. Mirth ripples along
the lane : the mincing step is so strange in the mighty forms. Yet
the mirth is no more than a ripple, for the figures are symbols,
and their purpose to edify.
And then, for an hour and thirty minutes, with solemn
step and solemn mien, in perfect decorum in spite of
the hour of distance already traversed, the really serious part
of the great procession passes — a, multitude of Christs and
Saints and Virgins, in statue and picture, on platforms and in
tabernacles, embowered in lilies and lighted by soft lamps, festooned
with roses yellow and white and red, or jingling with little bells
as they are borne along on the shoulders of men and boys; con-
170 VALENCIA, AND MAY [May,
fraternities of youths and men and boys in regalia of every color;
associations of monks and laymen and priests; boy bands and men
bands, almost in scores; crosses and candles and banners; symbolic
figures of giant golden eagles with live doves in their mouths, and
lions in halos, and venerable Hebrew prophets, priests, and kings,
and rugged Roman soldiers, and the two explorers from the Land
of Promise with the wondrous clusters of grapes; and Christ and
Thomas, and John the Baptist, and St. Martin giving away his cloak,
and Mary, six feet high, with a sword, and the charming little Infant
Jesus, two feet high, sitting on a throne and extending two
fingers in benediction, while confetti and blessings descend in
showers from the balconies above; and civic dignitaries in gala
dress; and military dignitaries in gorgeous imi forms, with brilliant
orders covering their breasts; and finely mounted Spanish cavaliers;
and twenty-six men in wigs of gray, and beards, and crowns, with
giant candles half a foot thick and eight feet high; and never-
ending crucifixes, candles, and banners, borne by stately priests; and
the bishop with his retinue, and his throne carried along behind;
and priests and acolytes swinging quaint old mediaeval censers that
cloud the now twilit street from house to house with mystic smoke —
and, finally, most solemn of all, the most holy Body of Christ Him-
self, heralded by shrill triunpets, in majesty advancing through
the clouds as a wave of motion travels the lines of the multitude
at the bending of every knee.
When the populace has risen again, and the final squadron of
cdballeros, in tall bearskin caps and plumes and gorgeous uniforms,
on finely caparisoned horses that understand the spirit of the hour
and step as solemnly and measuredly as the priests themselves, has
passed by into the dim lane of incense, the lines of military red and
blue are seen to break; the multitude dissolves with quiet geniality,
and goes to its homes through streets now lighted for the night.
Later, there will be promenading under the bright lamps of
street and garden, and throngs in the plaza to hear the band play,
and to feast the eye on the Holy Chalice, symbol of the day, made
of a thousand colored lights. It will be twelve when the last note is
heard, and it will be one before the streets are dear. At three, the
moon of Valencia will have climbed to the zenith, and all that she
will see of life in the city of roses and women will be the sereno,
treading the pavement in hempen sandals, and crying the hour:
Son las tres: se-re-no!
A MOTHER OF JUDAS.
BY HENRIETTA DANA SKINNER.
|THENS lay under the blaze of unclouded sunlight.
Streets of dazzling whiteness, sky of intensest blue,
air of keen, vitalizing crispness radiated energy and
cheer. Yet the human figures hurrying by were,
more often than not, swathed in black and bowed
beneath the insignia of grief. Their footsteps were leading them
towards the Metropolitan Church, where a solemn liturgy was being
sung in commemoration of the recently concluded peace. The Lib-
erator-King, the Queen of the Greeks, the Diadochos, and the chief
dignitaries of the court and government were present, together with
people of all ranks and conditions.
Among the black-robed figures passing through the portals of
the basilica walked the widow of Christoforos Frankoudis, who, in
the disastrous war with Turkey of 1897, had died the death of a
hero, .and been buried with highest military honors. His widow,
therefore, had the right to hold her head high in the assembly of
patriotic men and women of Greece, and she did so. Nevertheless,
as she passed with proud bearing and grave, steady eyes, those
about her fell back a little and glanced pityingly towards her. Many
murmured, " Poor woman ! " Others turned awkwardly away, as
if fearing to encounter those grave, proud eyes. For Anna Fran-
koudis, widow of a hero of 1897, was the mother of an only son,
that Pavlos Frankoudis who, in 1913, had been tried by court-
martial, condemned and hanged before Salonika as a traitor!
Proudly and gravely, the widow took her place on that side of
the church reserved for women. She had unfalteringly given all
she had to Greece, doing her duty as a Greek woman should do.
She had a right to rejoice with her country when it rejoiced, and to
mourn with it when it mourned. The God of Greece was her God,
the Greek Orthodox Church was her Church, and her place was
among those women of Athens who had assembled to mourn their
dead, to glory in their victory, and to give thanks for the return of
peace. Standing not far from her was the family of her sister
Eirene. But how diflFerent was the lot of the two sisters!
Eirene, wife of Andreas Sofio, was likewise in black, for she
172 A MOTHER OF JUDAS [May,
mourned the loss of her youngest son, also named Pavlos. But this
^ son had fallen gloriously on the field of battle, leading a charge
against the Bulgarians at the outbreak of the Second Balkan War.
Her husband and three surviving sons stood by her side, and the
young widow of Pavlos Sofio nursed a blooming boy of the same
name at home.
Anna Frankoudis stood alone. No husband, no son supported
her, no grandchild in whom to centre rosy hopes of the future lay
in its cradle at home. Her only boy slept in a dishonored grave,
his name execrated of all true Greeks !
The divine liturgy had commenced, the ancient liturgy of the
Eastern Churches — the Mass of St. John Chrysostom. The Metro-
politan of Athens, in dalmatic and pallium, standing before the
three-doored Eikonostasis, uplifted the book of the Gospels, and
blessed the people. The deacon, in alb and stole, intoned the
litanies with their solemn petitions for peace from on high, for
peace in all the world, for the salvation of the souls of men, for
deliverance from all evils. And after each petition the people's
cry went up to heaven, *' Kyrie, eleison! Lord, have mercy! "
" Remember also, O Lord, those who have fallen asleep in the
hope of the resurrection unto eternal life! "
Sobs broke from black-robed figures as they thought of their
beloved heroes lying in their martial graves, and they murmured:
" Give them rest, O Lord, that they may see the light of Thy
countenance shine upon them ! "
No organ, no instrument of music lent its aid to waft the
prayers and chants of the faithftd to the throne of the Most High.
The trained choir of male voices sang, in the haimting barbaric
scale, the chants and harmonies of the East; while the people,
familiar from infancy with the liturgy, sang the responses fervently
in unison.
The Eikonostasis, the high rood-screen, with its three doors
and its sacred pictiwes, divided the main body of the church from
the sanctuary, the "holy of holies." On the right side of the
church, facing the icon of the Saviour, stood the men. On the
left, before the icon of the Mother of Sorrows, stood the women.
The icon of the Madonna, painted in the flat Byzantine style
against a gold background, represented the Mater Dolorosa, gazing
in anguish at the thorn-crowned head of the dead Christ lying
against her knees. A sword pierced her heart, her hands were raised
in supplication to heaven. Round about the painting was the
inscription, " Oh, all ye who pass by, look and see if there be
1915] A MOTHER OF JUDAS 173
any sorrow like unto my sorrow! '* Many were the sorrowing
mothers standing before this icon mourning the loss of sons. But
they mourned not without consolation. Rather was their grief
crowned with a sacred, patriotic joy, that they had been found
worthy to sacrifice to God and country their dearest treasures.
But among them was one who, alas! could not know this high
and holy consolation, who cotdd have no share in the triumph that
softened grief ! " Mother of Christ! " moaned the proud and bitter
heart of Anna Frankoudis, " my sorrow is greater than your sor-
row ! Your Son was the Holy One of Israel ! How can you imder-
stand such grief as mine? How sorrow as I, whose son was an
outcast and a traitor, never to be forgiven or redeemed ? "
" Come ! let us adore and bow down to Christ ! " chanted the
clergy. " When Thou didst condescend to death, O Life Immortal !
then didst Thou stay hell with the lightning flash of Thy Divinity;
and when Thou didst raise the dead from the world below, all the
powers of the heaven cried out: 'O Christ, our God, the Lifegiver!
glory be to Thee!'"
And the choir, in jubilant response, sang three times the
Trisagion hymn: ''Agios Theds! Agios Ischyrds! Agios
Athdnatos! eleison etnas! Holy God I Holy Strong One ! Holy
Immortal One ! Have mercy on us ! "
A bitter smile ciwled the lip of Anna Frankoudis.
" For the Son of Mary, death was but the gateway to immortal
glory ! What have I in common with you, O Mother of the divine
Christ? You are called blessed among women from one age to
another, while I, though gladly oflFering my son's life for his people,
am an object of scorn and shame, a very leper among women ! "
Never had she asked for wealth or glory or long life for her
only son. She had solely prayed that he might be strong and God-
fearing, serving his country in all honor. To this end she had
directed his ideals, formed his principles, and strengthened his will.
And yet he lay in a traitor's grave ! He had not even died courag-
eously, as many criminals and traitors die, but had wept and cursed,
crawling abjectly before his judges. Only spare his wretched life,
and he would go into perpetual exile, ridding Greece of his miserable
presence forever!
The unhappy woman's eyes turned to where her sister Eirene
stood — Eirene with her living husband, her three stalwart boys,
her little grandchild in his cradle at home, and her hero son lying
in his honored, flower-decked grave. Again a wave of bitterness
flooded the heart of Anna Frankoudis. By what evolution of justice,
174 A MOTHER OF JUDAS [May,
human or divine, had her son become a traitor, and Pavlos, son of
Eirene, a hero? For this nephew, Pavlos Sofio, had been a thorn
in her side from his infancy. Two years older than her Pavlos,
he was the spoiled darling of a large family. In all the boyish
rivalries and disputes between the two cousins and playmates, Pavlos
Sofio had ever been upheld by his elders. His word had been ac-
cepted before his cousin's in every question of veracity arising
between them, till he had grown up a bully and a liar, always ready
to justify himself at the expense of his younger, fatherless, and
brotherless cousin. And on coming to manhood he had, by his
misrepresentations and calumnies, alienated from his cousin the
young girl whom Frankoudis had loved from childhood, and won
her for himself!
Yet, it was this Pavlos Sofio who, by a signal act of heroism
at the outbreak of the Second Balkan War, had saved the day for
the Greeks before Salonika, leading a gallant charge, and falling at
the head of his troop. His body, mangled almost beyond recogni-
tion, had been rescued by his men, and borne home in triumph for
honorable, public burial. And on the very day of his glorious death,
wept and praised by his countrymen, his cousin, Pavlos Frankoudis
— "the only son of his mother, and she a widow " — ^had been tried
for his life, found guilty of bartering with Bulgarian plotters to
betray Salonika into their hands, and had been hanged before the
walls of that city. His dishonored body had been flung into a ditch.
His grave was unmarked, shunned, accursed of men! •
Amid the jubilant alleluias of the cherubic hymn, the " great
entrance " was now made. Surrounded by bearers of incense and
lights, the Metropolitan and the deacon, carrying the paten with
the bread and the chalice with the wine, entered the holy of holies
through the royal door of the Eikonostasis, and laid the gifts upon
the altar, as Joseph of Arimathea had laid the body of Christ in the
new-made tomb, amid costly spices and linens and ointments.
The bishop then blessed the people, crying out to them : " Lift
up your hearts on high and give thanks to the Lord! Sing, cry
aloud, and proclaim the song of victory ! " and choir and people
responded, singing thrice the " Hosanna in the Highest " to the
thrice-holy God.
The prayer of consecration was pronounced in Christ's own
words over the bread and wine, and the Sacred Host, called in East-
em Churches " The Lamb," was lifted on high. The people pros-
trated themselves to the ground in adoration of " the Lamb of God
Who taketh away the sins of the world," striking their breast thrice.
1915] A MOTHER OF JUDAS 175
and repeating together their solemn profession of faith in the
sacred mystery :
" I believe, O Lord, and I confess that Thou art Christ, the
Son of the Living God, Who didst come into the world to save
sinners. O Son of God! pve me to-day a share in Thy mystic
Supper, for I will not betray Thee with a kiss, as did Judas, but
like the repentant thief I will confess to Thee : *0 Lord, remember
me when Thou comest into Thy kingdom !' "
In the tortured ears of Anna Frankoudis, one word alone rang
out above all the rest — " Judas! " She stood as one turned to stone.
Judas! Judas! Judas! Had she pven birth to a Judas?
Had she nursed a Judas at her breast ? Had she lulled a Judas to
sleep in her arms, loved him, prayed over him, endured much for
him, only that he might in the end betray his Master, perish on a
gibbet, and lie in an outcast's grave? Judas! Had Judas a mother?
Had the mother of Judas lived to know of his black deed? Had
she loved her son even as Anna Frankoudis had loved her boy?
God pity the mother of Judas! She heard nothing more. The
holy, comforting words of the communion, the himible joy of the
- tlianksgiving, fell upon deaf, insensible ears.
The divine liturgy drew to its close. The clergy came out
from the holy of holies, standing before the royal door.
" Now let us depart in peace ! in the name of the Lord ! "
chanted the bishop.
"Blessed be the name of the Lord, now and unto the ages
of ages ! "
" And may Christ, our true God, have mercy on us ! May He
preserve us and all the faithful of this church for many years ! "
" Eis polla eti, Dispota! For many years, O Master ! " the
people replied. And thus they were dismissed.
Slowly the immense congregation filed out of the basilica.
But Anna Frankoudis still stood before the icon of Mary the
Mother of Jesus, with tightly-compressed lips and hard, defiant eyes.
" What do you know of my anguish, O sinless Mother of an all-
holy Son ? " she muttered sullenly. " You mourn the Holy One
of Israel ; I mourn Judas! "
The patient eyes of the sorrowful Mother gazed down at the
thorn-crowned head of her reviled and murdered Son. Her mild
lips seemed to say as of old : " Behold the handmaid of the Lord ;
be it done unto me according to Thy word ! "
Was this silent, submissive, mournful handmaid of the Lord
the woman who had cried out in ecstasy : " My soul doth magnify
i;6 A MOTHER OF JUDAS [May,
the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in Grod my Saviour! For
He that is mighty hath done great things unto me ! " What were
those " great things " which the Lord had done unto Mary, His
chosen Mother on earth?
Wandering far from home in poverty and distress, without
where to lay her head, she had been driven from the doors of men to
seek refuge among the beasts of the field. She had brought forth
her first-born Son in the squalid poverty of a stable, and had laid
Him in a lowly manger amid the cattle. She had risen and fled
with Him into distant Egypt before the terrors of the massacre
of the Innocents. Seven weary years of exile and homelessness fol-
lowed, then the return to Nazareth with its years of poverty, ob-
scurity and humble toil — the prophecy of the " sword of sorrow "
ever in her ears. Later had come separation from the beloved Son.
She had seen Him misunderstood, persecuted, followed only by the
poor, the ignorant, and the sinful; had seen Him condemned as a
malefactor, and put to torture and shameful death ! She had stood
at the foot of His Cross and had heard Him reviled by the mob.
She had received His dead, broken Body in her arms. She had laid
Him in the tomb amid the terrors of earthquake and darkness.
Mother of Sorrows ! Were these the " great things " which the
mighty God had prepared for the birth-pver of " His Beloved Son
in Whom He was well pleased? " Truly, this woman had known
every mortal anguish, save that of sinl Ah ! that was the supreme
diflference ! The Crucified Son of Mary was the innocent " Lamb
of God!"
Anna Frankoudis' hands gripped each other convulsively.
" Sorrowful Mother! " she protested. " If I might only know,
as you knew, that my son was innocent, then I could bear my grief I
The world might still hold him guilty, but I would no longer com-
plain. Make my sorrow like unto your sorrow, and I will ask for
no greater joy ! "
She turned slowly away, slowly walked forth from the sacred
portal. There was but one refuge for her in these cruel days. In
the cemetery, without the city, slept the body of Christoforos Fran-
koudis, her heroic husband. Thither she now wandered, and
through the long hours of the afternoon until evening closed in,
she sat by his grave praying for her dead — one the hero, and one
the traitor; one blessed and one accursed of men!
" God is all merciful ! He alone knows what passed in the
heart of my unhappy son," she thought " He does not judge as
men judge ! "
1915.I A MOTHER OF JUDAS 177
Here in the peaceful city of the dead, the world and its judg-
ments seemed very far away. A great calm came upon her soul.
In this atmosphere of another life, it seemed as if she might even
forget those who condemned and scorned her beloved.
She lifted her eyes and glanced at the nearby grave, laden
with flowers and tokens of love and honor, where Pavlos Sofio slept
his hero's sleep. Rising, she came and stood beside it, moved by
some unconscious instinct. She even stooped to arrange some fallen
flowers with tender touch, as a mother might do — ^as she might
have done to her own boy's grave ! And the vision of her son in
the days of his brave, bright, young innocence floated before her
eyes. All else was forgotten!
" Pavlos ! my little boy ! " she murmured, " thy mother loves
thee still ! loves thee still ! Her breast is still thy shelter ! "
At dusk she rose and came slowly back into the noise and
movement of the city of the living. She had eaten nothing since
early morning: it was now evening and she felt faint and chilled.
At the door of her house her maid met her.
" An officer is waiting your return. Lady," she said.
Anna Frankoudis entered the lighted sitting-room. A tall,
heavy figure in uniform advanced to meet her. She recognized
General Konstantinos Perdikaris, a former friend of her husband,
aide-de-camp to the King, and one of those who had been in
command at Salonika at the time of her son's arrest. He stood
before her and bowed gravely.
" I have come to right a great wrong! " he announced, without
preliminaries of greeting or speech.
" My son? " she asked, hoarsely.
" Pavlos was the true son of his father and mother," he de-
clared. " You gave to your country a hero ! "
" And you hanged him? " she gasped, with flashing eyes.
" No ! " he replied sternly. " We hanged a traitor who de-
served his fate ! "
For a moment she was conscious of nothing but confusion in
her ideas. " I do not understand," she stammered faintly.
" Your son perished at the head of his cousin's troop, in the
glorious charge that turned the Bulgarian flank and saved Salonika!
He lies yonder, near by his father, in an honored grave! "
She groped for a chair and sat down. Her head swam. She
could not seem to understand. General Perdikaris seated himself
by her side, talking simply and plainly as to a child.
VOL. a. — 12
178 A MOTHER OF JUDAS [May,
" The Colonel of Sofio's regiment was wounded in the battle
that night and lay unconscious for weeks; he is now recovering
and has been brought to Athens for treatment/' he explained.
" To-day he suddenly asked for your son. I was sent for, and
broke to him what I supposed to be the truth. He exclaimed, 'Im-
possible ! Physically impossible ! The night you arrested your
man in Salonika, Frankoudis arrived at camp, and reported to me
the Bulgarians' plan of attack. We at once marched to intercept
their column, and I placed Frankoudis at the head of his absent
cousin's company in the van of our attacking column.' " The
General paused. " You know the glorious end," he added gently.
The widow passed her hand confusedly across her brow. " It
is not quite clear," she hesitated. " Where was Pavlos Sofio? "
*' In Salonika, on leave of absence, consummating his treach-
ery 1 " he replied, bitterly; then, seeing her still speechless and con-
fused, continued:
** There was a strong family resemblance between the two
young men. When Frankoudis presented himself before Sofio's
Colonel, the latter took him momentarily for his cousin come to
report for duty. He soon saw his mistake, acting at once on your
son's information. But, in the confusion of the sudden night march,
Frankoudis was everywhere taken for his cousin, even by Sofio's
own men. Undoubtedly he let them remain under this impression
to save his cousin's honor. The Colonel, who alone knew the
truth, was too ill to correct the error till now."
** And how," she asked, hoarsely, " how had my son learned of
the planned attack ? "
" We know from two Bulgarian officers who are our prisoners.
They came into Salonika that evening to seek the Greek officer
with whom they were making their treacherous bargain, and whom
they knew simply under the name of 'Lieutenant Pavlos.' They
met, as they supposed, their man, and informed him of the completed
arrangements. When the interview was over and he had left, each
expressed surprise at the changed demeanor of the young officer.
They had attributed it to seeing him for the first time in uniform,
he having been more or less disguised at their former interviews.
But they now grew uneasy, suspecting that they had betrayed their
plans to the wrong man. It was their subsequent inquiries about
the identity of 'Lieutenant Pavlos' that led to the arrest and court-
martial of the man we now know to have been Pavlos Sofio."
" But," she cried, intent and eager, " Sofio might have saved
1915] A MOTHER OF JUDAS 179
himself by giving his right name and throwing the blame on my
dead son ! "
" It was impossible to save himself 1 He was identified as their
accomplice by the Btdgarians whom we had taken in custody, and
incriminating papers were found on his person. Whatever name
he might go under, there could be no manner gf doubt as to his
identity with the traitor. He tried to shelter himself under the
extellent record of Frankoudis as his best chance for mercy, but
they made short shrift of him."
"And you have learned all this to-day, for the first time?"
she asked, in low, awe-struck tones.
" Since noon to-day," he replied. " As soon as it was made
clear, I came straight to you. It was the King's wish that you
should learn the truth without loss of time. To-morrow it will be
publicly proclaimed. Your son's memory will be cleared, and his
name will go down to posterity as that of a hero, and the son of a
hero!"
Anna Frankoudis sprang to her feet, she flung out her arms
and clasped her hands in exultation.
" Oh, my boy ! my noble, glorious boy ! " she cried, almost
hysterically. "Oh, Pavlos, my little son! my good brave lad!
O God, I thank Thee that his honor is unstained ! Let me cry aloud
to all the world, 'You did not know him whom you condemned!
My son was innocent ! He was dead in shame, but is now alive in
glory ! He was lost in dishonor, but is now found in honor !' "
She fell on her knees, sobbing wildly. She, who had not shed
a tear since she first had heard the tale of dishonor, was now
weeping with joy. The cross of ignominy had been lifted from
her heart. Through her tears she glanced joyfully, thankfully
to heaven.
"Mother of Sorrows, you heard my complaint!" she mur-
mured. "With all my grateful heart and soul I bless you and
give you thanks that my prayer is answered ! "
Her prayer! What, then, had been her prayer?
The heart of Anna Frankoudis stood still in consternation!
Had she not challenged the sorrowful Mother? Had she not
bargained with her? Had she not declared: "// / might only
know my son was innocent the world might still hold him guilty,
and I would not complaint Make my grief like unto your grief,
and I ask for no greater joy/^
This, then, had been her compact with heaven ! Her sincerity
^8o A MOTHER OF JUDAS [May,
was being put to the test that she herself had appointed ! She had
the knowledge of her son's innocence, nay more, his King knew
it! his commanding officers knew it! She had received over and
above what she had asked. Could she, then, in honor refuse her
part; refuse to bear in uncomplaining silence the lesser grief that
she had bargained for? She gasped for breath; a band seemed to
tighten round her heart. Oh, God 1 How could this be asked of
her? Was it not her last, holiest duty to her dead son to clear his
name, to establish his honor before men? She staggered to her
feet and looked wildly, appealingly about her.
General Perdikaris, who had withdrawn to the window in silent
respect for her emotion, now came forward.
" I can understand the flood of relief, of joy," he said kindly.
" I know what you must have suffered. It has been happiness for
me to lift this burden from your noble heart And now," he added
with a sigh, " I must take your cross and lay it upon the heart of
another mother in Greece."
'' No! " came the sharp cry. " She must not be told! '*
The General looked at her in silent astonishment
" She must not be told ! " reiterated Anna Frankoudis. " Let
things remain as they are ! I would not wish even a mother of our
enemies to suffer what I have suffered."
The General hesitated. " I do not know if the King will
permit," he began. "He will wish justice done — "
" Listen ! " she cried. " My son left none to bear his name.
There is none to share his shame but his mother alone. For the
sake of Pavlos Sofio's young widow and little son, let matters stay
as they are! Did not my boy die to save his cousin's honor? For
all their sakes who bear his name, let nothing be said ! It is better
one should suffer than many ! As for me, the Mother of Sorrows
and her crucified Christ will be my aid. Let all remain as it is ! "
General Perdikaris looked into the liuninous eyes, the proudly
smiling lips of the woman before him, her glorified countenance
bathed in the peace which passeth understanding — the peace of
those whom God consoleth !
" Heaven bless you, Anna Frankoudis, valiant woman of
Greece ! " he cried, bowing low before her. " The God of armies
sustain you! You have chosen an heroic part, and great will be
your reward in heaven ! "
ST. AUGUSTINE OF HIPPO ON THE CAUSES, EFFECTS,
AND PRECISE NATURE OF SCHISM.
BY HUGH POPE, O.P.
Securus Judicat Orbis Terrarumt
"He shall judge those, too, who give rise to schisms, who look to
their own special advantage rather than to the Unity of the Church; and who
for trifling reasons, or for any kind of reason which occurs to them, cut in
pieces and divide the great and glorious Body of Christ For no reforma-
tion of so great importance can be effected by them as shall compensate for
the mischief arising from their schism." St Irenseus, Adv, Hctr,, IV., xxxiii. 7.
I HE Kikuyu controversy which was treated at length
in the pages of The Catholic World, is now
almost forgotten. But it must be remembered that
this controversy and consequent discussions arising
from it served to bring into prominence certain views
which have been gaining ground in the Anglican Church. Ideas
which were in a more or less fluid state are now hardening into
crystals. One of these ideas is that of the "catholicity " of a certain
section of the Church of England — ^a sentence which, as we are well
aware, will not bear logical analysis, but which will serve our pur-
pose. By a ciu'ious turn of the wheel the very phrase which stands
at the head of these pages, and which was used many years ago^ as a
lever against the High Church party, has now become their watch-
word;^ Securus fudicat Orbis terrarum! The phrase has a certain
imperial ring, and " empire " seems — in a sense — to spell " catho-
licity."
It will be worth while, then, to inquire imder what circum-
stances the phrase was used by St. Augustine, and what parf it
played in the great Donatist controversy.
This controversy covered some thirty years of Augustine's life,
and we have no less than twelve treatises from his pen on the
subject. These consist of a hymn, sermons, disputations, and
formal treatises, so that we have a wealth of material at our dis-
posal.* It goes without saying, that in so protracted a contro-
' Cardinal Wiseman, The High-Church Claims, No. 5, being Tract 19 Published
by the Catholic Institute of^Great Britain.
'Church Times, January 2, 19 14, p. 24.
'It maj be as well to set down here the titles of these various treatises in
chronological order as far as can be ascertained.
i82 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May,
versy the same points come up again and again. The true issue is
often obscured, for the Donatists were adepts at drawing the pro-
verbial red herring across the path — as Augustine has occasion to
remind them more than once. But as the ground is cleared certain
points stand out, and while some arguments are allowed to drop,
others are insisted on with ever renewed force.
The first point, then, was the definition of schism.
What precisely is schism? Is schism a question of locality?
Or is it a question of doctrine? And if a question of doctrine, is it
a question of fundamental doctrine or merely a question of minor
importance — like the Sarum rite as against the Roman, for instance?
It is cm-ious that Faustus the Manichaean should give us quite
a correct definition of schism : " You have dubbed us a schism of
the heathen," he complains to Augustine, " and not a sect. Nt)w «
schism, if I mistake not, means that a man thinks the same as others
do, and worships in the same fashion as they do, but it pleases him
to split up the congregation. Whereas a sect means that a man
thinks very differently from others, and institutes a form of divine
worship which is very unlike theirs."* Augustine, as usual, puts
the matter far more pithily : " You are a schismatic," he says to
Gaudentius, "by your sacrilegious separation; you are a heretic
by your sacrilegious doctrines."* Again he asks: " How do schis-
matics differ from heretics ? " And he answers : " It is not different
faith that makes the schismatic, but the broken bond of union."*
(a) Psalmus contra Partem Donati, written about the dose t>f the year 393, ep.
Refract., I., xx.
(b) Contra Epistolam Parmeniani, three books, c 400, cp. Retract,, II. xvii.
(c) De Baptismo contra Donatistas, c 400; cp. Retract,, II., xviii.
(d) Contra Literas Petiiiani DonaHstm Cirtensis Episcopi, c 400, cp, Reiriact,,
II., xxvi.
(e) De Unitate Ecclesur, sen Epistola ad Catholicos contra Donatistas, c 402.
(f ) Contra Cresconimn Grammaticum partis Donaii, c. 406, ep. Retract,, II., xxvi.
(g) De Unico Baptismo contra Petilionum, c 410, cp. Retract,, II., xxxiv. (This
is not the work referred to in the subsequent pages under the title Contra Petilianum;
for which see under (d) supra.)
(h) Breviculus Collationis cum Donatistis, c 411, cp. Retract., II., xxxix.
(i) Ad Donatistas post Collationem, c 412, cp. Retract., II., xl.
(j) De Gestis cum Emerito Ctisareensi Donatistarum Bpiscopo, c 418, cp.
Retract,, II., xL We should add to this the Sermo ad Cmsaretnsis Bcclesi^ Pl€bem,
prttsente ipso Emerito.
(k) Contra Gaudentium Donatistarum Episcopum, c 420, cp. Retract,, II., lix.
(1) Sermo de Rusticano Subdiacono, re-baptiMato a Donatistis et nmnc Diaccno,
date uncertain.
* Contra Faustum, xx., iii. Schism and sect are, of course, etjmolocically the
same, but secta is here used of heresy as distinct from schism.
•Contra Gaudentium Donat, Episc, II., x.
•Quasi, XV U„ QvL I. i-a.
igisl ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM 183
He is careftil, too, to distinguish bad Catholics from heretics and
schismatics.''
Schismatics are not wholly bad : " In so far as they agree with
us, they are one with us; but they have departed from us just so
far as they disagree with us."*
So much for the meaning of schism ; it is separation. What
are its causes ? In estimating Augustine's words we must remember
that he had seen the Donatist schism spring up; for years he had
witnessed with aching heart the ravages it was working in the
African Church.
They could never have done this (viz., separate off from the
Orbis terrarum) unless they were mad with swelling pride, or
poisoned with jealousy, or corrupted by worldly ease, or ren-
dered perverse by carnal fears. From all these causes it has
come to pass that good people are falsely charged with crimes,
or false accusations are rashly accepted against good people,
or even that bad folk — who have been tolerated for the sake
of the bond of unity, and who do no harm to the good folk —
have been most perversely compelled to flee. For flee they
must when the peace subsisting amongst good folk has been
broken up by men who hesitate not to disturb the wheat —
arrogating to themselves before the harvest the office which
the Angels are only to perform at the harvest*
In these last words Augustine puts his finger on the true cause
of all schism. " For they say that with them alone is justice to be
found 1 "^® And again : " 'What have the tares to do with the
wheat?' is your most arrogant motto, not ours." "All those
who have split off from Christ's Unity boast that they alone are
Christians and damn all the rest — ^not merely those who know their
quarrel, but those too who have never even heard their names! "^^
How often we hear similar pleas alleged in justification of
what took place at the Reformation !
Yet Augustine insists that there never can be any Intimate
cause for such separation. He takes his stand on the Parable of
the Tares; they were not to be rooted up, lest perhaps you
root up the wheat together with it the harvest is the end of the
^Strmo. v., i *De Baptismo. contra Donniistas, I., ii. ; cp. I,, x.
* Contra Epistolam Parmeniani, III., xviii.
^Contra Parmen., I., xix.
^Contra Cr0scomum, IV., hcxi., cp. Ep. XCIII., xxxvi. ; Contra Parmen., I., xix.;
Strmo, IV., xiv., xvi. ; St. Matthew xiii. 24-42.
i84 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May,
world. And the reapers are the Angels}^ Hence his noble de-
claration :
I am in that Church the members of which are all those
Churches which, as we know from the Canonical Writings,
were founded and established together by the labors of the
Apostles. Their communion, whether they be in Africa or
wheresoever they be, I — ^with the help of the Lord — ^will never
desert. If in this communion there ever were Traditores^^ I
will, when you shew them to me, execrate them, for they are
dead, body and soul. But not for the sake of them that are
dead will I ever separate myself from the living who abide in
the holy Unity of that same Church. For these dead ones
did not found the Church; if they were good, then were they
wheat in her; if bad, then were they straw in her. But as
for you, whom neither the tares nor yet the straw that is in
this Church — which is so manifest to all — could ever defile,
what is the cause of your separation save a hankering after
sacrilegious schism? But you retort, "If these things dis-
please you, then denounce them I Then fly away, leave the
Church of the Traditores. Decline to follow in the footsteps
of your erring ancestors I " But I answer : " If those men
were not Traditores then were they my ancestors ; if they were
Traditores, then were they not my ancestors. For I hold that
the Church is full of wheat and straw I fly from the
straw lest I, too, become straw ; I fly not the threshing-floor .
lest I become naught! "**
Similarly, after quoting many passages from Scripture against
the sin of schism, he says to Parmenias :
We have brought forward these arguments from Holy Scrip-
ture so that it may be clear that there can be naught graver
than the sacrilege of schism. For there is no necessity which
justifies a man in rending the bond of unity. The good tolerate
the bad — who can never work them any spiritual harm — lest
these bad folk should be spiritually separated from the good;
anxiety to preserve peace moderates or postpones severe dis-
cipline; though this same severity manifests itself in times of
security when it is clear that, without fear of causing schism,
things can be healthfully corrected by the Church's judgments.**
"Matt. xiii. 29, 39.
^Traditores was the name given to those who, under stress of persecutioii,
deliyered up (iradiderunt) copies of the Scriptures. The Donatists alleged as the
ground of their separation that the African Church tolerated these Traditores.
^* Contra Cresconium., III., xxxix. ^Contra Parmeniam., II., xxv.
1915.] ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM 185
The Church, he insists, is quite able to purify herself if need be;^*
a fact which schismatics never grasp. They always seem to imagine
that the Church needs them.. As though the Church needed any-
body!
If St Augustine is severe when speaking of the causes of
schism, he is terrible when portraying its effects. It is worse than
idolatry;^'' worse than the sin of the Traditores;^^ worse than
murder;^® worse than sacrilege^® — indeed he generally speaks of
schism as the sacrilege f^ to cause schism is a worse act than that
of those who crucified Christ;*^ it merits eternal punishment;^'
it may well be termed "the sin against the Holy Spirit;^* it is
hateful to God;^* even though baptized, schismatics cannot have
the Holy Spirit.*® But it is for the stupendous folly of schism
that Augustine reserves his irony. He dwells on the contempt into
which schismatics fall : " It is manifest that all who separate them-
selves from unity become but few. They are many — ^yes, but only
in Unity, when not separated from Unity! They are reprobates
from God's Church, and all the more contemptible in that they were
desirous of being princes; they are become salt without savor,
cast out of doors and, therefore, trodden under foot."*^ Schis-
matic churches become sterile, and so while Augustine speaks of the
" philtres " of heretics, the " confusion " of paganism, the " blind-
ness " of Judaism, he insists on the " languor " of schism.**
Schism is absurd. If you alone claim to be spotless, he urges against
the Donatists, then you will have to say that " the Christian name
has perished from the Orbis terrarum and is to be found in Africa
alone! "*• " Save for the Donatist faction, the wheat has perished
throughout the Orbis terrarum t "^^
In his controversies with the Donatists this expression, Orbis
terrarum, recurs again and again. Indeed it serves as the keynote
to the whole controversy, or rather we should say to St. Augustine's
share in it, for the Donatists themselves never attempted to face the
difficulty. For Augustine this phrase supplied the lever, on the
**De Vera Religione, VI., i. "P* Baptismo contra Donat., I., x.
^Contra Petti,, III., iv.
^Contra Cresconium., IV., Ixii. Contra Petil., II., xlvi.
^De Baptismo contra Donat., II., ix. Contra Farm., I., vii., viii., xiv. ; III., L
Contra Petil,, II., cxlvi.
^Contra Petit,, II., cxlvi. Contra Farm., III., i., etc
^Enarr, in Ps. XXXIII., Sermo. II., vii. ^Ep, CLXXIII., vi.
^Contra Cresconium., IV.. x. "£^ XLIII., xxiv.; LXXXVII., iv.
^Sermo. LXXI.. xxxii.; Sermo. CCLXIX., ii., iii.
"Bnarr, in Ps. CVL, xiv. '^De Vera Religicne, V.
» Contra Parmen., II., a. ''Ibid,, II., xxxviii.
i86 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May,
application of which the whole Donatist position crumbled away.
The Donatists had separated themselves off from the main body of
the Church, chiefly on the ground that the Church was corrupted
by the presence in her midst of the Traditores. They thus claimed
to be a purer body than that which they had left; in their own
words they were the wheat, the rest were the tares; or they were
the wheat, the rest were but the straw.
In refuting their pretensions St. Augustine first of all lays
down that the Church must needs be synonymous with the Orbis
terrarum, and this he proves from the Old Testament as well as
from the New:^^ Petilian, he says, does not reflect "that there
is no more doubt that that is the Church of Christ which is spread
abroad throughout the whole world — since this very feature was
so long ago truly prophesied of her — than there is any doubt that
Christ was to be betrayed by one of His disciples — since that, too,
was equally prophesied."** And not only in prophecy but in actual
fact the Church is synonymous with the Orbis terrarum; thus, com-
menting on the words: / hcpi/e declared Thy justice in the Great
Church,^^ he asks : " How great? " and he answers : " Toto Orbe
terrarum! " And again he asks : " How great? " and he answers :
" In omnibus gentibusl "^^
The consequence is inevitable: All who separate themselves
from the Church separate themselves from the Orbis terrarum.
The only alternative will be to maintain that they themselves were
that Orbis terrarum. The Donatists dared not do this, " You were
afraid when the multitude of the Orbis terrarum was compared with
your multitude.''*' " The odor of the Church is fragrant among all
nations, but they who oppose us would fain confine that fragrance
to a comer of Africa ! "•* Thus were the Donatists shut up to
the conclusion that they had separated themselves off from the
Church of the Orbis terrarum. It was an odious conclusion, and
they struggled hard to avoid it They even ventured to dub the
Catholics " Macarians," because Macarius had fought so strenu-
ously against them. This roused St. Augustine's ire.
The Donatists, then, could not say that they were the Church
of the Orbis terrarum; they were compelled to allow that they
had left it. But what an appalling conclusion to arrive at— or
rather to be driven to ! It meant the denial of Scripture and tra-
"Sce Contra PeiU., III., btii., and Contra Parmen,, III., xxhr.
''Contra PetU,, III., xU. "Ps. xxxix. lo.
•^Enarr. in Ps. XXXIX.. xv. ; cp. Contra PetU., II., ccxlvii., and Ef. CCVIII., vi.
''Contra Pofil, II., cvi. '*Ib%d., III., vii.
1915.] ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM 187
dition. " You are uncertain where the Church is ! But we are cer-
tain that no one can justly separate himself from the communion
of all the nations, for the simple reason that none of us seeks
to find the Church in his own righteousness but in the Divine
Scriptures, and, as was promised, she can easily be seen." ®^
Again : "If when you leave this world you are still separated from
the Unity of the Body of Christ, bodily virginity will avail you
nothing ! "'* " The testimonies of the Divine Scriptures — so
crowded and so clear in favor of the Catholic Church — are, to your
grief, dumb for your claims ! "*® And this conclusion to which the
Donatists were driven meant that the Church must have perished
from the Orbis terrarum as we have seen ; but it meant even more
than this. For, to be logical, the Donatists should have claimed
the right to summon the Orbis terrarum before their tribunal.
" Shew us, then, your tribunal where you sit, so that the Orbis
terrarum may stand before you ! " says Augustine to Petilian.*®
Moreover their position involved the rejection of the Baptism of
the Orbis terrarum; why else did they re-baptize those who came to
them ?^^ Again, theirs was the position of the unknown condemn-
ing the known, and condemning it on grounds which they could not
possibly verify. In separating themselves from the Orbis terrarum
on the ground that they themselves alone were just, they put
themselves in an awkward predicament The passage where St
Augustine most forcibly urges this must be given as a whole :
Woe to the blind guides and blind followers I Do not people
who say such things as these men say, fear lest perchance some-
where in all the length and breadth of the Orbis terrarum
where Christ's faith and Name is spread abroad, just men, in
some region far removed from Africa, may have done just
what these (Donatists) do, only long before these latter sepa-
rated themselves off; with the result that these Donatists
themselves are living in that very contagion of defilement from
which those aforementioned had already fled? For who guar-
"£^ XCIII.. xxvii., xxviii. '^Ep. CCVIII., vii.
** Contra PetiL, III., xii., and c^, St. Irenaoiss, Adv. Hmr., III., iL. 2, " When con-
futed from the Scriptures they turn round and accuas these same Scriptures
when we refer them to that tradition which originates from the Apostles, and which
is preserved by means of the succession of presbsrters in the Churches, they object to
tradition, saying that they are wiser, not merely than the presbyters, but even than
the Apostles, because they have discovered unadulterated truth It comes to this,
therefore, that these men do now consent neither to Scripture nor to tradition I "
^Contra Petit., II., cxii. ; cp. especially Contra Parmen., III., xxi.
^Co$^ra Parmen., III., xxt. and xxiv.
i88 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May,
antees, who makes them secure that — on the supposition that
such a separation ought to be made — it has not already been
made, and this so far away as to be unknown in Africa;
just as in those remote regions the Donatist faction is unknown?
Perchance they will say that this can be no prejudice to them
since they were ignorant of it? But then it could be no
prejudice to those distant lands not to know what was done
in Africa — even supposing that the crimes which they lyingly
attribute to the Africans were really committed. But if they
maintain that such a separation could not be unknown to them-
selves had it taken place, then let them say that throughout the
Orbis terrarum there has been schism! But my question is
perhaps too wide: let then the Carthaginian Donatists, those
Donatists, that is, who live in Carthage, let them say into
how many parties the Donatist faction itself has been split in
Numidia and Mauritania, of all which splits they must know
the causes. Lest perchance in those same regions some just
people may have avoided the congregation and society of
their own wicked folk and may have gone out thence lest they
should touch the unclean thing, lest they should converse with
criminals. And this they must do lest perchance some years
back the wheat may have already separated itself off in some
corner of Numidia or Mauritania, and they themselves (the
Donatists) may have remained "straw" and not known it!
Now how can they be secure on this point save on the
supposition that they are certain that they who separate them-
selves off from the unity of the Donatist communion, which is
spread throughout the whole of Africa, could not have been
good people! For, if they tolerated the existence of certain
wicked folk in their neighborhood because they could not point
them out to others, they ought rather to have tolerated them
than separate themselves off from so many innocent folk whom
they could not persuade of other people's sins — even though
they themselves knew them well. Why, then, was not a similar
innocence attributed to the Orbis terrarum of so great a multi-
tude of nations wheresoever Christ's heritage is clear; so that
Christ's heritage might be certain and secure that those who
say they are good and separate themselves off from the Unity
of the whole earth thereby shew what they really are? For
they seem to be just — and they despise others ! Therefore they
sing not the New Song, for they are uplifted by the pride of
" the old man." They are separated off from that Communion
to which it was said : " Sing to the Lord a New Song; let all
the earth sing to the Lord! " If they were truly just they would
I9IS.1 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM 189
also be humble. But if humble, then, even though truly bad
folk were shewn to be in their neighborhood, they would love to
tolerate for the charity of Christ those whom they cannot ex-
pel from the Unity of Christ
But how can they justly judge about those wicked folk near
by whom they denounce, when with such rash blindness they
incriminate people unknown to them and living far away from
them? For whether they really know the guilt of their fellow-
citizens and neighbors whcnn they denounce — is a thing quite
uncertain to the Orbis terrarutn. But, that by a rash blindness
they have separated themselves off from those whose lives —
since they dwell at a g^eat distance from them — they could not
possibly know, this is a thing quite certain to the Orbis
terrarutn. Again, that with praiseworthy patience the wicked
are to be tolerated lest hidden good folk should be condemned —
this too is a thing quite certain to the Orbis terrarutn. Where-
fore with security does the Orbis terrarutn judge that they are
not good who separate themselves off from the Orbis terrarutn
in whatsoever part of the Orbis terrarutn.**
This was the classic passage which so disturbed Cardinal New-
man when Wiseman drew his attention to it. The doctrine is clear :
if you separate from unity, then all security and certainty dis-
appear for you ; whereas the unity from which you have separated
remains perfectly certain that you are in the wrong! Which is
precisely the case at this present day with all the separated Churches.
They dare not claim certainty or security, hence they demand a
universal tolerance. But Rome claims absolute certainty and se-
curity; and she demands absolute and unconditional submission
because — Securus judicat Orbis terrarutn! Who shall prove that
Rome is not Orbis terrarutn f No one. What separated Church
will claim to be Orbis terrarutn f None!
Hence St. Augustine repeatedly says to the Donatists : " Ex-
plain your separation;"*' or " Why have you, by so rash and sacri-
legious an act, cut yourselves off from communion with the innumer-
able Churches of the East which have never detected, nor do now
detect, what you pretend to say has been done in Africa? "** He
reminds them again and again that it is not the Catholic Church
^Contra Parmen., III., xxiv. Note Clement of Alexandria: "There are three
states of the soul — ignorance, opinion, knowledge. Those in ignorance are the
Gentiles, those in knowledge are the True Church, and those in opinion are the
heretics." Strom. VII., i6.
"^ Contra Petit., II., xliii. **Ep, LXXXVII., i.
190 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May,
that has cut herself off, but the Donatists who have " gone out from
us ;" and who, therefore, should not say : " PVe have made no
schism."**^
And again he insists: " Shew me your Church! ***^ This, as
he rightly urges, is the whole question : " It is no question of any
individual man's merits, but of the truth of Holy Church." ^^ What
are its credentials? What is its antiquity? " The Unity of Christ
is older than the faction of Donatus! "*® Is your Church received
by every one ? Is it the Church foretold in the Prophecies ? Is it
the Church of the New Testament? He tells them that they cannot
answer his arguments from Holy Scripture : " they dare not say
they are false, for they are overwhelmed with the weight of
proof!"**
" I, on the other hand, can shew you my Church," says Augus-
tine. It is the Church of the Orbis terrarum, Catholic in deed as well
as in name; it is that Orbis terrarum concerning which " Christ gave
a true testimony; but you, in opposition to Christ, give a false
testimony to that Orbis terrarum." ^^ That is true which of old
was preached and believed by truth-speaking Catholic faith through-
out the whole Church."**^ That the Church was Catholic in name
no one could question. Petilian was unwise enough to say : " If
you say that you hold to the Catholic faith, remember that catholic
in Greek means what is unique or whole. But you are not in the
whole since you have become a sect." To which Augustine an-
swered :
I have, it is true, made little progress in Greek, practically
none ; still I think it no impertinence on my part to say that I
know that 6Xoy does not mean one but whole, and that kocO^Xov
means according to the whole. Hence has the Church received
the name of Catholic; for the Lord Himself said: You shall
be witnesses unto Me even to the uttermost parts of the
earth.^^ Repudiating therefore [he says in his Treatise, De
Vera Religione], all those who have departed from the Rule
** Contra PetU., II., xlv. It is worth while noting how completely this argument
is neglected by the editor of the Church Times, who in a paper expressly intended
as an examination of the famous passage : Securus judicat Orbis terrarum, says
that the Tractarians could have answered Wiseman by pointing out that it was not
they but the Roman Church that was schisn\atical. In other words, that it was Rome
that had separated off from the parent body I Church Times, January 2, 1914, p. 24.
^Contra Petit., II., xxxvii. *Ubid., III., xi. and xli.
"^Ibid., II.. ccxxiv. ^De Unitate Ecclesia, XXIII.
** Contra Petil, II., div.
'^Contra JuJianum Pelagianum, VI., xi.; cp. Enarr. in Ps. XXXIX., xv., quoted
»^vc. ''Contra PetU., II., xc, xci.
1915.I ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM 191
and Communion of the Catholic Church, we have to hold to
the Christian religion and to communion with that Church
which is Catholic, and which is called Catholic not only by its
own members but by its enemies as well. For whether they
like it or not, heretics and the children of schismatics, when
they are talking, not with their own folk but with strangers,
call the Catholic Church nothing else but the Catholic Church.
For they would not be understood unless they distinguished
her by that name whereby she is known throughout the
whole world."
Moreover, Augustine insisted that in his Church alone, as being
alone the True Church, were to be found the essentials of Christian
religion : " Christian charity cannot be kept save in the unity of the
Church." ^* " Peace and unity make Catholics." ^^ And the Catho-
lic Church is essentially One : " No one who preaches the Name of
Christ, no one who bears and ministers the Sacrament of Christ,
is to be followed (when acting) contrary to the Unity of Christ." *^*
Thus note his words when commenting on the words : Blessed is he
whom Thou hast chosen and taken to Thee (Ps. Ixiv. 5), "He
took to Himself but One, for He took to Himself unity. Schisms
He took not to Himself; heresies He took not to Himself, for
they had made of themselves a multitude, there was no 'one' who
could be taken to Himself."*^''
Again, in his first sermon On the Creed: We believe " in Holy
Church She is Holy Church, the One Church, the true Church,
the Catholic Church that strives against all heresies. She can
strive : she can never be taken by storm. All heresies have gone
out of her; like useless twigs they are lopped off the vine. But she
remains in her Root, in her Vine, in her Charity. The gates of
hell shall not prevail against her! "*^® He paints in startling terms
the fundamental difference between the true Church and all heretical
assemblies :
Follow the path of Catholic teaching which has flowed to.
us from Christ Himself through the Apostles ; and which is to
flow from us to our posterity. But that, you will perhaps say,
is absurd, for all profess that they hold and teach Catholic
Truth! That all heretics profess it, I cannot deny; but they
profess it in such fashion as to promise to those whom they
"De Vera Religione, VII. (12). •*Contra PetiL, II., clxxii.
"/W</., ccxix. '•Ibid., III., vi.
"EnaiT. in Ps. LXIV., vii. *P# Symholo, I., xiv.
192 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May.
lead astray a reason for the most obscure truths. And, there-
fore, especially do they grumble at the Catholic Church because
she bids those who come to her believe; whereas they boast
that they impose no yoke of faith upon men but open to them
the very sources of Truth.**
It is with this Church that the ultimate appeal must always lie :
Supposing the Holy and True Church of Christ were to
convince you and overcome you, what would remain for you to
do — even on the supposition that you had possession of some
true teachings of tradition, and we had none at all, or only
false ones — what would remain for you to do — save seek for
peace if you were willing to do so, or, if you were unwilling
to do so, at least to hold your tongues? For whatever state-
ments you might bring forward now, I should simply and truly
reply that you must prove them to the plenary and Catholic
Unity that is now spread abroad' and established throughout
so many nations.***
He is speaking here of the accusations made by the Donatists
touching the existence of wicked folk amongst the Catholics, and
he continues:
Either both our statements, yours and ours, are true, or both
are false ; or ours are true and yours false ; or ours are false
and yours true, there is no further alternative. But in all these
four positions the truth rests with the Catholic Commimion.
For if both statements are true, yours and ours, then you
ought never to have left the communion of the Orbis terrarum
on the ground that men are such as you have painted them.
And if both are false, then you should have taken pains to
avoid such an atrocious crime as schism when no crime such
as surrendering the Sacred Books existed. Similarly, if our
statements are true and yours false, you have naught to say.
And if your statements are true and ours false, then we— with
the Orbis terrarum—hzvt merely been deceived about some
men's wickedness, not about the truths of faith. For the seed
of Abraham, spread throughout the world, had not to attend
to what you said you knew, but had to ask by what judges
you proved it.**
But in their dismay they might perhaps ask: Where is this
•D<r Utilitate Credendi, XX., XXI. •'Contra Petti, III., Ixx.
•"Ibid.. III., bcxi.
I9IS.1 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM ' 193
Church of the Orbis terrarum to which you so constantly refer
as being spread throughout the world ? " Truly, if all throughout
the Orbis terrarum were as wicked as you most impudently declare
them to be, what would you make of the See of the Roman Church
where Peter sat, and where to-day Anastasius sits? What would
you make of the Church at Jerusalem where James sat and where
to-day John sits? With these Sees we are knit in Catholic Unity.
From these Sees you, in your madness, have separated yourselves
off."*^ And again: "What right have you got to blaspheme
against the Apostolic See?"** "That Church is founded upon
a rock, as the Lord said : Upon this rock I will found My Church.
Think not that the Church which is founded upon the rock is in
one comer of the earth and is not spread abroad even to the utter-
most bounds of the earth It is not in Africa alone, nor simply
for the Africans; it is not a few Montesians** sending from Africa
a bishop to Rome or into Spain to the house of one woman!"**
Augustine has no doubts whatever as regards the position as-
signed to St. Peter. Thus in nearly every place where he speaks of
his Confession of the Divinity of Christ he speaks of Peter as " the
type of the One Church," as " signifying the Church." " Among
the Apostles almost everywhere Peter alone merited to personify
the whole Church."** Further, Peter is always the "Primate;"
"The first of the Apostles;" "Among the Apostles Peter is the
first;" "he holds the principality among the Apostles;"*^ he "stands
for them all " as " personifying Unity;" " of this Church, Peter the
Apostle, by reason of the Primacy of his Apostolate, was the per-
sonification, representing them all."** But Augustine goes much
further than this. Writing in a. d. 416, with a vivid recollection of
the Donatist controversies, he says: " Petrus a petra, petra vero
Ecclesia; ergo in Petri nomine figurata est Ecclesia. Et quis
securus, nisi qui (Bdificat super Petramf. . . . . .Ergo una est secur-
itas, et (jedificare, et super petram (edificare."^^ The words securus
and securitas are but a reminiscence of the Securus judicat Orbis
terrarum. For Augustine, then, security lay in union with Peter,
^Contra Petil., II., cxviii. ^Ibid,, dxii.
**A name given to the Donatist coipmtinity which endeavored to establish itself
in Rome.
'^ Contra PetU,, II., ccxlviL
-5*#rmo.XLVI.,xxx.; LXXV.. x.; LXXVI., i.-iii. ; CXLVIII., vi. ; CCLXX., ii.;
CCXCV., i\.\De Agone Christiana, XXXII.
'^Sermo. CCXCV., i., iv. ; LXXVI., ui. ; Enarr. in Ps. CVIII., I
•^ Tract, in Joan,, CXVIII., iv.; CXXIV., v.
•/«rf., VII., xiv.
VOL. CL — 13
194 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May,
"' Petro, in quo uno format Ecclesiam."''^ It would be hard to find
a more forcible expression of Catholic Truth than in the comparison
which he institutes between St. Cyprian and St. Peter : " If Peter
could, contrary to the Rule of Truth which the Church afterwards
held, compel the Gentiles to Judaize, why could not Cyprian, con-
trary to the Rule of Truth which the Church afterwards held,
compel heretics or schismatics to be re-baptized ? I think that with-
out any unbecomingness Cyprian the Bishop can be compared to
Peter the Apostle — ^as far as the crown of martyrdom is concerned.
Still I must be cautious, lest I should be thought to speak unbe-
comingly of Peter. For who does not know that his primacy of
Apostolate is to be preferred to any Episcopate? "''^
The Donatists, as we have seen, did not dare claim to be the
Orbis terrarum. Neither does the present-day Church of England
make the claim. But she goes perilously near it. A writer in the
Church Times maintains that the Donatists might justly have urged
against St. Augustine : " You and your friends are inclined to
resent a suggestion that you need any reform," and he proceeds to
contrast the behaviour of the Donatist faction and that of the Orbis
terrarum in a manner hardly flattering to the latter."^* Yet Augus-
tine defied the Donatists to summon the Orbis terrarum before their
tribunal I
But though not claiming to be the Church of the Orbis terrarum
— for that would be too absurd — ^modem Anglicans and Episco-
palians do call themselves " Catholics." Many, of so-called High
Church tendencies, claim to be " members of the One, Holy, Catholic
and Apostolic Church." Statements like this bewilder the modem
controversialist. How would they explain the fact that the Church
to which they belong is in schism ? Why does not that Church — as
for example the Church of England, from which American Episco-
palians claim their descent — ^hold certain Catholic doctrines, e. g.,
the Infallibility of the Pope ? The answer given is : " She is simply
part of the Catholic Church of Christ." Yet even this statement
does not help us much. " Simply a part? " Does " part " mean
a diocese or a province? Does it mean a species of patriarchate?
And, above all, what is the relation of this " part " to the Apostolic
See? Now the Church Times''^ says that " this position is not an
^Sermo. CXXXVII.. in.
*^Z># Baptismo contra Donatistas, II., ii.
^Church Times, January 2, 1914/ P- *4-
^Ibid., January 30th.
19151 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM 195
easy one to defend controversially; it forces one, for instance, to
enter upon the Roman controversy with one's hands tied, because
while Roman Catholics deny any Catholic character to the Church of
England, it is not open to us to retaliate in the same way The
truth is, of course, that the Church of England has just as definite a
position as the Church of Rome or the Protestants, but it requires a
little more trouble to understand it." This last clause we can easily
believe. Certainly the writer in question makes no attempt to ex-
plain this " definite position." This same writer goes on to say that
" the Church of England is not Protestant in any sense of the term
unless the word Protestant is merely used in its original historical
sense of a simple protest against the claims of the See of Rome,
a sense which it has lost long ago." In this sense, then, the Church
of England is Protestant — and, therefore, in schism. From this
conclusion there is no escape if the Church of England desires to
be thought a part of the Catholic Church. As long as she consented
to be a merely Protestant Church, holding doctrines of her own and
independent of other bodies, no one could insist on the term " schis-
matic " — for the simple reason that another and more opprobrious
term had to be used : " heretic." Not that shism is not ipso facto
heresy. Deliberately to cut oneself off from the trunk is to deny
the very idea connected by " trunk," viz., that it is the trunk, and
that from it the branches derive all their life. This is the very
thing that Anglicans reprobate in the crisis through which they are
passing. Lord Halifax prays " that controversy may not be the
occasion of a schism which will rend the Church of England in
two."''* And an editorial writer in the same issue warns the bishops
who may have to judge the Kikuyu case against so acting as to
cause a revolt! One might apply to them St Optatus' words to
the Donatists : ** You declare that schismatics are to be cut off
from the vine like twigs that are useless, and that they are reserved
for the fire of hell. But I see that you are ignorant of the fact that
your own leaders caused a schism at Carthage ! "^® Put London or
Canterbury for Carthage and you have the modern Anglican posi-
tion. Anglicans are well aware of this. The article just referred
to says: "The Cathedra Petri, which in a certain peculiar sense
must be sought at Rome, stands in a wider sense for the general
authority of the Episcopate the bishops sit in Peter's seat
Neither the Pope of Rome and the bishops in communion
^* Church Times, January 9th, p. 38.
"St. Optatus, Contra Parmemanum, Lib. I., p. 11, in Paris edition of 1679.
196 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May,
with him, nor the Archbishop of Canterbury and the bishops in
communion with him, has a right so to innovate on the tradition
of the Church/*^® In what sense all the bishops can be said to
" sit in Peter's seat " we are not told. Nor are we told in what
" peculiar sense " the Cathedra Petri is to be " sought at Rome."
The key to these claims of the Church of England lies in
Apostolic Succession. The advocates of these claims feel they have
not that: then they have no claim to form part of the Catholic
Church. It is this that gives such peculiar sting to the Kikuyu con-
troversy. For here are bishops of the Church of England coquet-
ting — there is no other word which so well expresses their attitude —
with non-Episcopal Churches as though Episcopacy counted for noth-
ing. Hence the laments in the Church papers; hence the Dean of
Durham's equivocal remarks on the need of Episcopacy ;^^ hence
the assertions of the Dean of Manchester: " If Rome has Apostolic
Succession, we have it too. If it fails with us, it fails, too, with
Rome."''® This is one of those delightful assertions which, couched
in paradoxical form, seem to say so much, and yet really say —
just nothing!
And Apostolic Succession means what modem Anglicans term
— with refreshing vagueness — " the historic Episcopate." What
does that mean? You never find it explained. It is asserted —
— ^and we have only to assert a thing often enough to come to
believe it. Now the " historic Episcopate " should mean only one
thing: the historic succession of the Anglican bishops from pre-
Reformation days. But granting that it could be proved that there
was no gap, and that the Elizabethan bishops were validly ordained
by the Marian bishops, what would follow? Material succession
and no more. A validly ordained Grandal would occupy the See
once occupied by the validly ordained Bonner and his long line of
predecessors. But of what avail material succession? For it is
not succession to your predecessor's chair — and income — ^that makes
for Apostolic Succession. You are not his successor merely because
you sit where he sat, but because you think what he thought. You
must succeed him as another living link carrying on that tradition
for the sake of which alone he sat in that See, and by means of
which alone he was a legitimate successor of the Apostles. What
is needed is not merely an " historic Episcopate," but an historic
jurisdiction. The power is one thing, the use of it — or the right
^Church Times, January 9th. ^Ibid., January ad, and January 9th, p. 36.
^Ibid., January i6th.
1915.] ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM 197
to its use — IS another. To be validly ordained does not confer the
valid use of the power to absolve from sins. The power is there,
the right to use it is not there. This latter is only conferred by an
act of Apostolic authority through the medium of an Apostolically
consecrated bishop who is in commtmion with the Apostolic See.
How, then, do the Anglican bishops fare when put to this test?
Grant that they have been validly ordained and consecrated, whence
comes their right to the use of their power? Valid Orders are
not necessarily licit Orders. The liceity of Orders depends upon
union with the Apostolic See — ^not upon some union in the remote
past, but on present living union. The opposite of this — with its
corollary of invalid use of Orders — is expressed by the term
schism.
Schism! It is an ugly word. No thinking man but shrirtks
from the idea of "being in schism." There are three ways of
escape from the difficulty : (a) Give up your schism and come back
to Mother Church, (b) Concede that you are in schism, but main-
tain that all the other " Churches " are in the same case, (c) Deny
that you are in schism and maintain — ^if you can — ^that you are the
Orbis terrarum — as the Church of Rome does unflinchingly. Or
if you cannot face that, then deny the visibility of the Church upon
earth and deny — ^as a necessary consequence — the whole Sacramental
system. Whichever path is taken will involve sacrifice. And per-
haps that sacrifice which, when it looms afar, seems the most terrible
of all, will be found to be the sweetest of all when embraced. Of
nothing is the adage omne ignotum pro magnifico more true than of
the Holy, Roman, Catholic, Apostolic Church ! That is the first and
really the simplest way out. What of the second? It is the escape
favored by many Anglicans to-day. They cannot deny their schis-
matical state. But their too frequent effort is to put the blame on
the Mother they have left — or rather that their parents left. Yet
she must ever retort: You left Me, not I you. That Anglicans
to-day feel their schismatical position is clear from their frantic
efforts to obtain recognition from some of the other Separated
Brethren, as also from the eagerness with which they endeavor
nowadays to throw the Reformation overboard. Their profession
of faith might me : "I renounce the devil with all his works, the
world with all its pomps, the Reformation with all its mistakes ! "
Yet they are the Reformation's children. How is it possible to deny
it? We may learn with sorrow that our mother was a bad char-
acter; but we are still her children, whether we like it or not.
198 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM [May,
But the answer is made : It is not our fault that we are thus
separated ! It is the fault of the imperious Church of Rome !''• We
may have been in fault in some things, but she forced us into this
uncomfortable position. If we are to be re-united there must be
" give and take " on both sides. Thus the Bishop of Bath and Wells
declares ®® that " every Christian body must be willing to reconsider,
and possibly to restate, for the good of the whole, the proportion and
emphasis of some of the, so to speak, minor things which had seemed
of value to themselves." The corollary of this must be that the
Church has failed and that our Lord's prayer (John xvii.) has
failed too. Thus Canon Scott Holland writes : " The Bishop of
Zanzibar asks how the Ecclesia Anglicana stands." And the Canon
answers : " But the Ecclesia Atiglicana never stands. It moves,
and pushes, and slides, and staggers, and falls and gets up again, and
falls over into the right direction again after all. That is her way
of going along. That is her tradition. And the book Foundations
belongs to this habit of hers It all happens in this rough and
timible way just because the Church is a living organism, and in
spite of perils, survives, continues and makes way." ®^ And this is
supposed to be " a part of the Church " that was builded on a Rock !
That Christ's prayer for the Unity of His Church has failed is
naively acknowledged by the Church Times leader-writer who says :
" The Protestant does not believe in the visible Catholic Church,
intended to be one by its Divine Founder."®* No wonder that
another writer says : " The awe and love-inspiring idea of the
Church of Christ in the New Testament has simply gone."®'
We have heard much these days of " the unity of the Church of
England." We have to take the expression seriously. Lord Hali-
fax, as quoted above, prays " that controversy may not be the occa-
sion of a schism which will rend the Church of England in two."
But what conceivable " unity " is there which is not based upon
unity of doctrine? That there is no unity of doctrine in the
Church of England is a commonplace. But we can test the presence
or absence of this fundamental unity of doctrine by an example.
When Elizabeth laid sacrilegious hands upon the Church, Sanders
relates, in his Report to Cardinal Morone, that the aged Arch-
bishop Heath, the consecrator of Pole as Archbishop of Canterbury,
" cast himself upon his knees, and with many tears conjured the
^Church Times, January 2d. the leader. ^Ibid., January 30th.
*/Wd., December 24. 1913. ''Ibid., January 30, 1914.
^Ibid^ January 9, i9»4» P- 36-
I9IS.1 ST. AUGUSTINE ON SCHISM 199
Queen not to lay her woman's hand upon the sacred mysteries."
Elizabeth, it should be mentioned, had forbidden the elevation of the
Sacred Host at Mass. Heath ended by saying that " if — which God
forbid — ^anything so disastrous should take place as the overthrow
of religion in the kingdom, not even in the smallest matter would he
himself depart from the decrees of the Catholic Church a finger's
breadth; and that, in that case, he would to his dying day, and with
all Ills strength and energy, resist every attempt, whether of others,
or of tfie Queen herself."
Now would any Archbishop of Canterbury dare do the same
to-day ? We are not throwing doubt upon the moral courage of the
members of the English hierarchy. But we are assured that no
Anglican archbishop would so act. And this for the simple reason
that he would have no basis for such action, since there exists no
definite body of doctrine to which he could make appeal in support
of his action. And if he ventured to make any such appeal, there
would not be wanting many who would undertake to show that they
could hold the points which he reprobated — and yet remain equally
witfi himself true members of the Church of England. And this,
again, because the Church of England does not form part of the
Church of the Orbis terrarum, and therefore can never say:
Securus judicat Orbis terrarum!
THE EMPIRE OF ENIGMAS.
BY RICHARDSON WRIGHT.
F the nations at war in Europe to-day, the youngest
is Russia. True, almost a thousand years have
passed since the henchmen of the Veriagians —
Swedes, Norwegians, Goths, and Angles — came
down from beyond the Baltic and established them-
selves as princes of the old Slav trading cities, thereby laying the
foundation of the Muscovite State, yet Russia stands among the
nations the adolescent. She is at the point of unwieldiness. Her
physical limits have been extended in obverse ratio to the develop-
ment of her natural resources. The wisdom of intensive growth
has only begun to dawn upon her. Her education is sporadic, her
defence on land but recently attained a scientific basis, her navy is
still a nonentity, her miners have only scratched the surface, her
farmers only begun to make the earth give its increase, and repre-
sentative government has scarcely passed the stage of being a mis-
nomer. Like many an adolescent, she is misunderstood often, and
underestimated always, because her failures have been lamentable
and her defeats many. Time and again has she been deliberately
misrepresented, misinterpreted and maligned. Her weaknesses have
proven fat carrion for ghoulish pens to batten on. Some, un-
fortunately, believe all the evil told of her; some question. For
most of us she remains an empire of enigmas.
One day we read lurid tales of revolution, anarchy, and exile ;
the next, the rollicking pages of Gogol and the peaceful scenes of
Turgenief. Our souls are agonized to-day at the appeal of three
million people famine-stricken; to-morrow, raised to supreme
heights by the art of Pavlowa and Nijinsky, of Tchaikovsky, Mous-
sorgsky and Rimiski-Korsakov. We read of a hundred million
being added yearly to the nation's coffers from a state vodka
monopoly, then hear that the sale of vodka has been prohibited
throughout the entire eight million six hundred and sixty thousand
square miles of the empire — a nation gone dry by the stroke of a
pen! Exiles who once fought against the government are hasten-
ing home to fight for the government. Men who six months back
1915] THE EMPIRE OF ENIGMAS 201
were preaching dissension, are dying to-day on the banks of the
Warthe.
No less paradoxical than are the Russian people themselves, is
the fact that while Russia is the youngest nation according to her per
capita exercise of what we reckon civilization, she is at once among
the oldest. She has a past Some of it were wiser to forget, some
well to remember. Fiendish bloodshed, unbelievable cruelty, insane
hatred, lust for life and lust for land — ^all have stained her past.
One fact cannot be gainsaid, however: that Europe may thank
Russia she has outgrown these things — if outgrown tfiem she has.
Russia it was who gave the rest of Europe the chance to grasp and
make the most of her opportunities for civilization. While the other
peoples were toiling along painfully in " the slow pageant of the
race," feeling their way through the economic, philosophic and
religious mazes of medisevalism up to modernity, Russia stood as
the watcher at the gate, repelling the invasion of Asiatic hordes,
often suffering her own land to be laid waste and her cities leveled.
For that reason she is, in many respects, backward to-day, given
over to what seem half-primitive ideals, an unskilled diplomacy, and
an unenlightened faith. That these things are not wholly such,
IS the stumbling block. On the other hand, that they are not wholly
Eastern, is to many a moot point. Russia is neitfier the most
eastern of Western nations, as some would believe, nor the most
western of Eastern nations. She is neither entirely Eastern nor
entirely Western. She is a mingling of the two. She is a gigantic
maelstrom.
The Slavs that formed the bulk of the original Russ population
came from the Carpathians, from the very snow-locked mountain
fastnesses where the soldiers of Nicholas and Franz Joseph are
battling for supremacy. By the seventh century, rumors of the
richness of the Dnieper Valley had lured eastward a plausible major-
ity, and the Eastern Slavs, who formed the original strain of the
present-day Russian, became a distinct people. The earliest record
finds them traders— dealers in fur, honey, and wax — although tfie
bulk of their articles of commerce, was, as elsewhere in the ancient
world, the slave.^ Hence the word "slave" — not that the Slavs were
slaves, but because they dealt in them. Upon the ownership of
slaves rested the foundation of Russian society in the tenth and
eleventh centuries. By the eleventfi century had begun the culti-
vation of the soil. Side by side with commerce grew up this agri-
^V%d€, An Economic History of Russia, Mavor, vol. L, p. 44.
202 THE EMPIRE OF ENIGMAS [May,
culture, and developed those political changes that an agricultural
populace demands.
Then came the Tartars. From 1229-1240, the Asiatics swept
over southern Russia, driving the Slavs to the north, to the upper
Volga. For five centuries they held that territory. Kiev was a
wilderness until three hundred years after the occupation. Tribute
was paid the Crimean Tartars as late as the end of the seventeenth
century. Driven north, their political and economic life destroyed,
the Slavs centred about the trading cities that had sprung up in the
north — Novgorod and Moscow, which were later united into Ac
federation of trading towns. It was to them that the Veriagians
had been called. These "efficiency experts" — the modem term
applies, for they were summoned to help govern the cities — ^became
lords, and for a time they and theirs held that position. Eventually,
in the rise of a trading and agricultural class, their identity was
swallowed up in that of the Slav.
This glimpse of history is given not so much to recount the
facts as to point out a Slav characteristic manifested thus early and
still manifest to-day — ^the power of assimilating others unto themr
selves and still retaining some traits of the original people. This
absorption was evident after the Tartar invasion — ^Tartar elements
were assimilated. Then came to the Slav an influx of Eastern
ideals and Eastern temperament Russian expansion having been
mainly in an eastward direction, the predominating characteris-
tics are of that source, which accounts for the fact that one
can scratch a Russian and find a Tartar. But beside the Tartar
he also finds more than forty other nationalities, making of the Rus-
sian soul, even as is the nation itself, a maelstrom. The complexity
of the Russian soul, the tangled mass of race roots that embed the
Slav in the soil of htunankind, necessitates patient unraveling.
The first and perhaps most important distinctions that have to
be made are between Russia and the Russian Government; between
the class that governs and the classes that are governed; between the
faith that is taught and the faith that is believed : corresponding to
the three great components of any nation tfiat has an oligarchical
form of government and a state religion.
Many of us, when we think of Russia, think of it in the light
of the repute its government bears. Because its people have suf-
fered lamentably, we have a subconscious feeling that the land also
must be shrouded in darkness. Quite the reverse is the case. No
nation, save that of the United States, is so self-contained or
I9IS.] THE EMPIRE OF ENIGMAS 203
possesses such wealth of diversified scenery and untold natural
resources. From arctic Archangel to the sunny Crimea, from Teu-
tonic Poland to the orientalized Pacific maritime provinces, endless
beauty and evidence of incalculable natural wealth greet the eye.
You may go among men who have been exiled and fled to this
country, you may talk with the humble folk who have come to seek
wealth in our cities, and with one accord they will tell you that
though they hold bitter grievance against the Russian Government,
they still love the Russland, and hope some day to go back. Nor
have I ever found the traveler who has visited Russia, and has not
promised himself to return. There is a haunting quality about its
scenery, there is an enlivening stimulus to be caught from the
singular life of the people, from the admixture of nationalities and
tongues, from the varied customs and faiths that the frontiers of
empire hold.
In European Russia the difference between social grades is
strikingly marked. While the average man might think of them
as being only two classes, the nobility and the peasantry, such
classification is indeed crude. At the head of the official ladder,
below the royalty who govern, stand the nobility. Since the latter
number some six hundred thousand, they form quite a little nucleus,
albeit many of them are of the common stock, merely possessors of
inherited titles that, in many instances, mean little or nothing to-day.
You will find noblemen doing the most menial tasks — men and
women who have scarcely enough to keep body and soul together,
many of them, for all their poverty, cherishing their honors and
accq>ting with fine SclcU the petty respect shown by their
fellows.
Below the nobility come the higher intelligentia, the truly noble
body of Russians. They are not always people of material wealth,
yet they are usually possessed of a wealth of learning and apprecia-
tion. Often they are traveled folk, well-read, cultured, firm be-
lievers in the Orthodox Faith, and generally staunch supporters of
the existing order. Among them, of course, are vigorous recalci-
trants, but the majority of the higher intelligentia view the present
sociological and governmental evils in a more calm and philosophic
frame of mind, hopeful of improvement, and strong in the belief
that when the time is ripe they will be remedied. Without question
they are the finest type of Russian people, patriotic, faithful, believ-
ing, living in the light of modem thought — not in the darkness, as
does the peasant — ^and still sincere upholders of Russian ideals.
204 THE EMPIRE OF ENIGMAS [May,
There is, in addition, a bourgeoise intelligentia, and they are as
bourgeoisie the world over — ^people of many words, of rococo
culture and wavering or blind faith.
The revolutionist might also fall into a class by himself, were it
not that the recalcitrant is confined to no one class; in whatever
walk of life you meet him, the Slav is at heart a revolutionist. His
is that singular nature which is never content unless it is against
something, although he may know not why or what he is against.
"An unconscious socialist," one authority has termed him; he is
also an unconscious revolutionist. Even here in America we meet
the type, for a plausible number of our most ardent socialistic and
revolutionary propagandists are either Slav by birth or of Slavic
descent
The grievances of the Russian people are often exaggerated
by the American journalist. The sensational stories we frequently
read in our daily and monthly press are known to fewer pe(^le
in Russia than here. As a matter of fact, there has not yet
been raised up a man or a woman of sufficient calibre to lead the
Russian people out of their wilderness. When that man is created
of God — as all leaders are — then will they be led, but not until then.
Moreover, there is much more talk about dissension in Russia than
actual dissension, a fact that the American reader does not com-
prehend. For it must be understood that not alone has the lack of
a leader robbed Russia's revolutions of victory, but the fact that
the Slav's hatred is of short duration. If you understand the
singular convolutions of the wrath of the proverbial patient man,
you can comprehend the wrath of the Russian people. It is long in
accumulating and short of endurance. No sooner is the blow struck
than the wrath has fled. The life of many a Russian revolutionist
is a silent witness to this fact. There is always the gradual gathering
of the storm, the feeling that something violent must be done, the
sharp quick blow ; then a complete finality of anger. The rest of
life is spent in self-pity, or theatrical pose or sincere repentance.
More than one dead soul has found its resurrection in a Siberian
itape.
But those classes that have been discussed above form only the
fringe of the Russian people. The peasant is by far the most in-
teresting object of study. Composing eighty per cent of the popula-
tion, his problems, peculiarities and potentialities are the real facts
of Russian life. Having lived and traveled with him from one end
of his empire to another, I have the advantage of a first-hand view,
I9IS] THE EMPIRE OF ENIGMAS 205
and my conclusions, albeit they differ from that of the average
journalist, may be of interest
I sincerely believe that there has been too much'S)rmpathy
wasted on the woes of the moujik. Compared with the lot of
peasants in other lands, his has much that is to be regretted — and
also much to be admired. His home is generally clean, and he
himself, that is, his body, is dutifully washed ; the bath has always
been part of the peasant religion. Moreover, his women are healthy
folk, and it is a fact for which the peasant need not blush that the
mothers in Russia add yearly to the population some three million
souls. In general, the peasant is a rugged, laughter-loving fellow,
hospitable, kindly — save in his cups— capable of much endurance
and great faith. Ecclesiastically speaking, he is the most pious
peasant in the world. Travelers have not yet turned his picturesque
religious fervor into a Gx)k*s attraction, as they have in Brittany.
Nor can it be said of him that he ever lacks in patriotism, for the
average peasant, although he may detest the Tsar's agents, speaks
of the Tsar in the same breath with God. " Our souls are God's,
our bodies the Tsar's," runs one native proverb; another observes,
"The Tsar is generous — ^but his generosity passes through the
ministerial sieve."
Four hundred years of serfdom made the peasant a race apart,
and much of that same isolation exists to-day. Read down the list
of Dtuna members where each man's rank is given, and name on
name you find it written tfiat this representative and that is a
peasant. He may be a possessor of much land and a power in his
province, but still he remains in the eyes of the state a peasant.
Such social isolation has bred in the moujik a sterling capacity for
cooperation. There is no peasantry under the sun whose power of
cooperation is greater. And that accounts, if the fact would be
known, for the characterization given above: that the average
Russian is an unconscious socialist. The Mir, which although
abolished by law still obtains in many parts of the Empire, is sheer
socialism in the working. This in the heart of an autocratic govern-
ment! The artel — that communistic leaguing oif workmen who
share equally their expenses and profits — is another example of
effective cooperation. The Kustamui, the cottage industries for
which Russia has become famous, are based wholly on the law of
cooperation, each artel of workers contributing to the manufacture
of a spoon, a piece of jewelry or a cart wheel, for even so diversified
are the products of the Kustarnui. Thus it will be seen that the
2o6 THE EMPIRE OF ENIGMAS [May,
peasant, in a certain sense, has been working " on his own," apart
from the development of the factory which is an innovation of as
recent date as the regime of G>imt Witte. Indeed, the Russian
peasant is a singularly independent fellow. He is quite a different
person from what the statues would make him, and his faith differs
radically from that which the Church teaches.
The infusion of Oriental blood in his veins, and his having
always lived close to nature, make him in essence a pagan. In num-
berless homes where the icon comer is kept bright and spotless, the
family pays due reverence to the domovi, the house fairies ; and in
many sections the fishermen make sacrifices to the river gods and
goddesses. Farmers sow and reap not so much according to season
as according to lucky dates. The icon is rarely held a symbol, but
rather a living thing, and to offend the icon is to offend the God that
the moujik believes resides in that slab of painted tin and wood.
These and numberiess other superstitions still hold a spell over the
peasant mind despite the vigorous teaching of the Church, and the
fact that the government has forbidden folk tales being printed in
popular form lest they corrupt the moujik mind.
In these days when the faithful peasants are falling by the
tens of thousands on the field of battle, one often wonders if tfiere
is not some little strain of Oriental fatalism in their beliefs. Dog-
gedly they go to their deaths; wave on wave of men rolls up
against the foes, crashes, breaks, recedes, then back again to the
flood. The Tsar has said that he will fight this war until his last
moujik is down. Meantime what does the moujik think of it and
of his chances for escaping fearful death ?
The answer is found in a peculiar element of the moujik's
faith, a point wherein he differs from every other peasant. Death
has an attraction for him, and dying prepared is his ultimate desire.
To quote a previous article on The Faith of the Moujik^
" This peculiar attraction of deatfi is the foundation and super-
structure and capstone of his faith. Speak to him of the pre-
Crucifixion life of the Lord, and he is not interested. The teachings,
the parables, the miracles, the daily life of the Master, as He moved
among men, as He journeyed from place to place with His disciples
— these things the peasant cares little for. But once you begin to
talk of tfiose few days following the Resurrection, those appear-
ances and disappearances, tfiose words whispered here and there
upon the road by the Stranger — ^then the Russian peasant b^ns to
^Thg BccUsiiuticai Rgvigw, March, 19 14.
1915] THE GREAT MERCY 207
take interest. He cannot understand the radiant human face of
Christ, but he can understand the pale face of the dead Christ in
Mary's lap Should you judge the faith of the moujik in terms
of the West, you find yourself utterly at sea. We view life through
the eyes of life, the Russian peasant views life, through the eyes of
death. To him, 'Life is the night, death the rising of the sun.' "
THE GREAT MERCY.
BY KATHARINE TYNAN.
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was Mercy sought and Mercy found.
Yea, in the twinkling of an eye
He cried, and Thou hast heard his cry.
Between the bullet and its mark
Thy Face made morning in his dark ;
And while the shell sang on its path.
Thou hast run, Thou hast run, preventing death.
Thou hast run before and reached the goal
Gathered to Thee die unhoused soul.
Thou art not bound by time or space :
So fast Death runs: Thou hast won the race.
Thou hast said to beaten Death: Go tell
Of victories thou once hadst. All's well I
Death, here none die but thee and sin ;
Now the great days of Life begin.
And to the Soul: This day I rise
And thee with Me to Paradise.
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was Mercy sought and Mercy found.
A SERIOUS PROBLEM.
BY JOSEPH V. MCKEE, A.M.
|0 the Catholic, education is a subject of vital impor-
tance. Since the earliest times the Catholic Church
has realized the dynamic influence exerted by educa-
tion for good or evil, and has insisted that the fullest
consideration be given all educational questions. Not
merely has the Church counseled in this matter. With age-long
iteration she has taught the absolute necessity of true education.
She herself has taken a most active part in determining intellectual
training, and has been the greatest educational force the world has
ever known. There has been no greater factor in the intellectual
development of the human race than that mighty power which built
the famous universities of the Middle Ages, established popular
schools, and produced by its training such scholars as St Thomas
and St Augustine in philosophy, Copernicus, Verrier, and Lecchi
in astronomy, Lavoisier, Pasteur, and Chevreul in chemistry, and
Raphael, da Vinci, and Michelangelo in art
From these teachings of his Church, the Catholic realizes the
need of education. But he has received a greater heritage than
this. He has received the knowledge that education, to be true and
worthy, must be based upon the acknowledgment of the existence of
God, and have for its end the closer union of man with his Creator.
He has grasped also the immediate corollary of this truism, and
comprehends that if ever religion, which is the only real support
of law and order, is to be destroyed, the work will be done, not
by physical controversy or loud, sword-thwacking dissension, but by
the quiet and all-permeating influence of perverted education.
This danger arising from false education has threatened and is
threatening to-day. Under the influence of the pagan pedagogy of
Rousseau, Locke, and Spencer modern educators have fashioned
their courses on principles and methods which exclude from the
child's education all knowledge of a higher life or of a Supreme
Being. The need of teaching the relationship of man towards his
Creator has been deemed of no moment The aim of education
has become merely the training of the child to use material means
for the attainment of materisd adjustment and material advance-
1915] A SERIOUS PROBLEM 209
ment. The idea of God or of a higher moral code does not enter
the conception of so-called modern education.
The seriousness of this danger has not passed unnoticed. When
the Catholic people recognized the utter failure of the public school
system, and realized that the methods of these educators were
turning out into the world a new generation of unreligious and
unmoral children, they courageously faced the issue and endeavored
to work a solution. Having no endowments, and receiving no
financial assistance, they began the building of their own schools,
where their offspring might be trained not only in intellect but, what
was more important, also in soul. The cost of this work has been
enormous, yet the Catholic people, although for the most part pos-
sessed of no great wealth, cheerfully assumed this burden, and, while
still contributing their equal share in taxes toward the support of Jhc
public schools, have provided for their offspring an education that
is comprehensive, progressive, and efficient. To-day there are in tfie
United States five thousand four hundred and eighty-eight parochial
schools, providing education for one million four hundred and fifty-
six thousand two hundred and six children. This is a wonderful
monument to the self-sacrifice, the perseverance and the heroic
ideals of our Catholic people.
But outside of this problem of elemenltary education, the
handling of which has brought so much credit upon the Catholic,
there has arisen a state of affairs that is so serious and yet so little
comprehended that our attention should be drawn to it at once.
While we have focused our eyes upon one problem, another has
escaped our vision, and has grown to great proportions. The facts
are startlingly clear and must be stated. There can be no solution
of the problem until they are known, and the causes and extent
of the evil realized.
We are in an age of concentration and specialization. Because
of our complex existence and its manifold demands for efficiency,
greater equipment and finer training are needed for success. As a
consequence, it is an almost absolute necessity that education be
carried beyond the elementary stage. This fact seems self-evident.
Yet when we look into our secondary education, we find a condition
that gives rise to many disturbing questions. The most important
of these is the attitude of our Catholic people. What are they doing
for their children in regard to secondary education? Are they
failing to look beyond the elementary stage of training? Do they
rest satisfied when they see their children graduated from the
VOL. a.— 14
2IO A SERIOUS PROBLEM [May,
parochial school? These are thought-provoking questions; their
answers can be found only through a candid examination of our
secondary education.
The City of New York spends over forty million dollars
annually for educational purposes. Of this enormous sum, towards
the payment of which every Catholic contributes a share, almost
fifteen nulHon dollars is spent yearly for secondary education. It
would be logical to suppose that we derive a proportionate return
from this vast expenditure ; that our children are profiting by oppor-
tunities thus provided. But such is far from being the case. Our
city is the most cosmopolitan city in the world, with inhabitants of
every race and creed. Of the five million people, about seventy-five
per cent are Christians, of whom Catholics constitute seventy-six
and five-tenths per cent. The Jewish race constitutes a little over
one million, or about twenty-five per cent. This is a ratio of three
Christians to one Jew. Yet when we examine the enrollment of
our city high schools, we find that less than twenty-five per cent are
Christians — that more than seventy-five per cent are of Jewish
stock. Although the Jewish people are in such a minority, their
children possess an overwhelming majority in our high schools.
This means that where we might expect to find the ratio of the
population sustained in the schools, we actually find that for every
Christian child who is accepting the advantages of our secondary
education, there are three non-Christian children. In other words,
the non-Christian pupils aggregate nine times the number their place
in the city's population would lead us to expect.
Where are the Christian boys? Where are the Catholic boys?
Does not secondary education mean as much to them as it seems to
mean to the non-Christian boy? Why should our public high
schools fail to attract the boy of Catholic parents ?
The answer is given that Catholic parents send their boys to
Catholic schools. But such a reply cannot be borne out by facts.
Fordham University opened in September with a high school en-
rollment of only four hundred and twenty-nine, and with a college
consisting of only one hundred and seventy-four students. St.
Francis' High School has three hundred and eighty-five students,
St Peter's, tfiree hundred and seventy-six, and Brooklyn College,
two hundred and eighty-six. When we consider these schools we
must keep in mind the fact that they are fee-charging institutions,
and are, therefore, not open to the poor Catholic boy except under
special conditions. Besides, they have on their lists the names of
many who live outside of our city. St. Regis' High School, which
19151 A SERIOUS PROBLEM 211
has no tuition charge, opened with two hundred and fifty boys
on record. These are representative schools, and their smaUness
is emphasized when we realize that there are in New York State
two million eight hundred and eighty-five thousand eight hundred
and twenty-four Catholics. The more we examine the present
conditions, the more do we realize the small percentage of Catholic
boys who are receiving the benefits of a Catholic education.
We cannot get away from the seriousness of the problem. The
character of our public high schools has become so marked as to
excite wonder and surprise even in the casual observer. A visit to
any of the schools brings out many startling facts. Here is a school
containing about five thousand boys. It has one hundred and
seventy-nine instructors receiving two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars annually in salaries. It contains everything that is requisite
for the physical and intellectual development of tfie boys,
and is ideal in construction and equipment. Yet of these five thou-
sand boys hardly ten per cent are Christians, and it is a rare thing
even to hear an Irish Catholic name! Surely such a condition
warrants immediate attention. These boys, so few of whom belong
to us, will be the lawyers, the doctors, the educators, the profes-
sional men of the coming generation. This follows as a logical
consequence. Besides, it cannot be denied them, for they know
no denial. These boys will be the shapers of thought, the instiga-
tors of public feeling. From them will come strong,. prevailing in-
fluences for good or evil. We cannot minimize the power which
education gives a person, and when we sit back and refuse to accept
for ourselves and our children the training and education these boys
do accept, we must be prepared for the consequences.
The result of an education is either positive for good or positive
for evil ; education cannot be negative ; for a man after receiving
an education has greater capacities for good or greater capacities
for evil. Now, can we expect much from these boys who are so
eager to receive knowledge? After the election last November
a composition, entitled " Why I Like the Election," was given to
five classes totaling about one hundred and fifty boys. On exam-
ining the papers, the writer found that over ninety per cent of these
students rejoiced particularly in one thing — the election to Con-
gress of the Socialist, Meyer London. These were pupils drawn
from many classes of the school, and wer^ representative of the
whole student body. The fact stated is merely an indication of
their attitude on one of the vital economic questions of the day.
In overwhelming numbers these students are Socialists, or Socialists
212 A SERIOUS PROBLEM [May,
in the making, whose gospel is contained in the New York Call,
and whose ambition is the furtherance of Socialistic dogma.
Whatever hold the teachings of Zionism had upon these people
IS lost when the children learn English. The obligations of the
orthodox Judaism of their fathers and mothers, prove irksome in
the competition for material advancement, and are soon laid aside.
The influence of religion, consequently, is a negligible factor in
shaping their thoughts and actions. In oral discussions on such
topics as "Is Lying Justifiable?" or "Is It Wrong to Cheat?"
their words constantly show that they recognize no code of morals,
and are governed by no motives higher than those originating from
fear of detection and consequent loss in money. Surely we cannot
look for ideal results from such material.
It is to such as these, that our children, who are without the
benefits of education, must bow in later years. It would be denying
that result follows cause to gainsay this, for training and education
do give to the possessor advantages over his more poorly-equipped
fellow. We are giving them the sharper tools, the better instru-
ments, and then are expecting our children to cope successfully with
them. It must follow that in the years to come our handicapped
boys will be forced to give way in competition for better positions
and higher advancement in law, medicine, education, and business.
It was only recently that a prominent authority on education re-
marked that " within twenty years these people will be in control
of our public education."
And their energy and perseverance must be commended. In
their endeavors to better their condition, they know no sacrifice
too great, and recognize no obstacle too difficult to surmount. A
large majority work after school hours, and the writer knows of one
who runs an elevator from twelve midnight until eight in the
morning in order to provide means for support, and thus remain at
school. Despite many serious disadvantages of foreign birth and
foreign language, they quickly overcome these difficulties and soon
progress. Although their lives are worked out in poverty and in
environment that is most unpropitious, they are excellent students
and often profound scholars.
The facts and circumstances of the present situation are not
difficult of comprehension. They lie patently before us. Far more
difficult is the problem of discovering the causes which have led
to tfiis condition in our city high schools. It would be untruthful
and unjust to say that Catholic boys are less capable than their
fellows. We have too many examples of Catholic men in public
I9IS.] A SERIOUS PROBLEM 213
life to allow the utterance of such an assertion. The defect lies
not in the fact that the Catfiolic boys cannot accomplish great things,
but that they do not seem, in proportion to their numbers, to be
grasping the opportunities for advancement which are offered them.
This may be due to many reasons : First, to circumstances at
home which do not permit the boy to continue his studies ; second,
to the short-sighted vision of parents who prefer their boy to begin
work immediately after completing his elementary studies; third,
to the boys themselves, who falter and fall by the wayside because
of misconceived vocations, or through lack of proper guidance, help,
and encouragement.
As to the first, the boy who is called upon to be the bread winner
of the family deserves our sympathy and admiration. There is no
higher nobility tfian this — to sacrifice one's ambition for love and
duty. But even in the most extreme case, the boy who is truly
ambitious will find a way to study and advance. There are many
opportunities in our city for such a boy; all he needs is encour-
agement and words of cheer. Are we taking the means to en-
courage our boys who labor under such circumstances?
The second cause, however, is more reprehensible, because it
rises from selfishness and mistaken ideas. Many parents discourage
tfieir sons in their desire to attend high school. They see only the
wage which is forthcoming, and lose sight of the fact that, in most
cases, they are handicapping their children and closing to them many
avenues that lead to future advancement. According to the report
of the United States Labor Bureau, the average wage of the ele-
mentary school graduate is ten dollars a week. At the age of forty
it is ten dollars and twenty cents. Surely parents, for the sake
of an immediate return, should not thus condemn their sons to
lives of circumscribed drudgery..
The third reason, given above, is one which offers the greatest
opportunity for splendid work. Our Catholic American boy is ideal ;
he is ambitious, intelligent, and well-mannered. His only need
for a future of great good and wide influence is proper guidance.
In each parochial school there should be established the special
office of vocation-director. This work of directing boys to their
proper life-work has been taken up long before this. But even
greater efforts should be made along these lines. We cannot over-
emphasize the importance of this. The boys should be studied as
individuals with different powers and different possibilities. They
should be encouraged early in life to shape their thoughts and
energies along particular lines for the furtherance of their vocations.
214 A SERIOUS PROBLEM [May,
Then should follow the selective work. The boy should be
told of the advantages of one high school over another, and helped
in his selection there of proper courses of study. Records of his
work in high school might be kept, and help and encouragement
given him at times when needed. We cannot carry this directive
work too far; it should be continued even while the boy is at col-
lege. By this means, too, we will be guarding our boys from many
of the pitfalls which beset them during the most susceptible periods
of their lives.
If this work should be emphasized in the parochial school
(and who will deny the urgency?), how much more is it needed by
those boys who attend public elementary schools ? Here it becomes
the work of the local parish priest to organize his boys, to give
monthly talks on vocations, and to follow up the boys in their
studies. The work is arduous, but surely the return is great. If
our public schools are not what they should be, we, to whom educa-
tion is so dear, should assume the responsibility and courageously
endeavor to change the prevailing conditions. The evil cannot
be cured by aloofness.
These changes can be accomplished in two ways. First, let
us urge the graduates of our Catholic colleges to take up in greater
numbers the work of teaching in our public schools. True teaching
— the moulding of boys' characters — is a noble mission. There is a
sad lack of true Catholic lay teachers. Is it not foolish to try to
combat Socialism and other attendant evils, when we sit back and
allow the positions which carry the greatest influence for good or
evil to be filled by men who do not scruple at the dissemination of
false doctrines? Why allow the flames to be kindled for the sake
of extinguishing them ?
We should, therefore, make greater efforts to send our boys to
Catholic high schools whenever possible, or at least to the public
secondary schools. The Catholic teachers already in the field would
be only too glad to instruct boys after school hours in the principles
of their religion, and by lectures and talks to counteract the flam-
boyant attractions of pernicious modern philosophy. The presence
alone of Catholic boys would be a deterrent to many dangerous
forces now at work.
" The child is father of the man." Are we giving him his
proper heritage? The problem is apparent and serious; the solu-
tion urgent and necessary.
SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS.
BY THE EDITOR.
TILL more of the glorious pages of Irish history,
which tell how well she deserves the title of the
greatest of Catholic nations, have been illumined
with letters of heavenly gold by our Holy Father,
Benedict XV. The necessary brevity of this article
makes it impossible, and indeed it is not necessary, to dwell upon
the heroic fidelity of our forefathers who kept the Faith at home,
preserved the saving principles of that Faith to European civiliza-
tion, and, in their zeal and devotion, carried it to every part of the
globe. The beatification of two hundred and fifty-one Irishmen and
six Irishwomen presents again to the world the heroism of those
who, in the most ruthless of religious persecutions, laid down their
lives that God might be glorified before men, and that Ireland might
live a Catholic nation.
We give first the text in English of the opening and the dosing
of the Papal Decree on the Beatification or Declaration of Martyr-
dom of these servants of God. We then add the full list of those
Beatified,, summarizing in a very brief way the career and martyr-
dom of some of them.
In Ireland, the nursery of heroes, of the inniunerable cham-
pions of Christ who fell in the unbridled and furious persecu-
tion waged against Catholics in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, and whose names are written in the Book of Life,
the greater number are unknown, but many are known by name
and fame and still live in the memory of men. Among these
are numbered fourteen Bishops of the Church, many priests of
the secular clergy, and others belonging to the religious families,
or Orders, namely, the Premonstratensians, Cistercians, Friar
' Preachers, Franciscans, Augustinians, Carmelites, the Order
of the Blessed Trinity, and the Society of Jesus, as well as
laymen and men of noble rank, to whom are to be added six
devout women. Since the proofs of their martyrdom forth-
coming seemed to be of sufficient weight, an investigatory pro-
cess on the reputation for martyrdom and the signs and miracles
of the aforesaid servants of God was undertaken and brought
2i6 SOME OP IRELAND'S MARTYRS [May,
to a successful issue in the ecclesiastical court of Dublin. This
investigatory process was forwarded to the Sacred Congrega-
tion of Rites in Rome and was followed by many petitions from
Archbishops and Bishops, especially of Ireland, and from others
eminent in Church and State. When all was in readiness, on
the presentation of Monsignor O'Riordan, Protonotary Apos-
tolic, Rector of the Irish College, and Postulator of the Cause,
who put forward the wishes of the whole Catholic nation of
Ireland, the Most Eminent Lord Cardinal Vincenzo Vannutelli,
Bishop of Palestrina, and Ponente or Relator of the Cause, at
an ordinary meeting of the Sacred Congregation of Rites, held
at the Vatican on the date given below, proposed a discussion
of the Sacred Congregation of Rites on the following doubt:
'' Is a Commission for the introduction of the Cause to be
instituted in the case and for the purpose of which there is
question ? " And the Most Eminent and Reverend Fathers of
the Sacred Congregation of Rites, on the motion of his Emi-
nence the Cardinal Ponente, and after obtaining the opinion of
Monsignor Verde, Promoter of the Faith, having maturely
examined, discussed, and weighed all circumstances, decided
to reply: The commission is to be instituted in the Cause of
two hundred and fifty-seven Servants of God, if it is pleasing
to His Holiness.
On a report of this being referred to our Most Holy Lord
Pope Benedict XV. through the under-mentioned Secretary of
the Sacred Conjg^egation of Rites, his Holiness confirmed the
Rescript of the Sacred Congregation, and deigned to approve
with his own hand the Commission for the Introduction of the
Cause of the two hundred and fifty-seven aforesaid Servants of
God on the twelfth day of the same month and year.
Antony Cardinal Vico,
Pro-Prefect of the S. Congregation of Rites.
Peter la Fontaine,
Bishop of Caristo, Secretary,
February 12, 1915.
Archbishops.
Dermot O'Hurley, Archbishop of Cashel, was bom in the
diocese of Limerick; educated at Louvain, and appointed Arch-
bishop of Cashel by Gregory XIII. in 1580 or 1581. On his
arrival at Drogheda he was suspected by the same Walter Baal
who was afterwards Mayor of Dublin, and who imprisoned his
1915] SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS 217
own mother. At Slane, the learning of the Archbishop, manifested
in his conversation, led him to be suspected by Robert Dillon, Chief
Justice of the Court of Common Pleas. The Archbishop escaped,
but was pursued later by the Baron of Slane and overtaken. He
went to Dublin to prove his innocence. There he was burned in oil,
and two days later hanged in a public field not far from Dublin
Castle, June 20, 1584.
Richard Creagh, Archbishop of Armagh, was a native of
Limerick; educated and ordained priest at Louvain ; appointed and
consecrated Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of all Ireland
by Pope Pius V., April, 1564. On his return to Ireland,
he was seized and imprisoned in Dublin Castle, and later in the
Tower of London, whence he escaped, after the manner of St.
Peter, and fled to the Continent. On returning to Ireland, he
was a second time arrested and imprisoned. Again he escaped
to the Continent, and a third time returned to Ireland. He was
treacherously seized, sent from Dublin to London, where he was
again imprisoned in the Tower, and, after much suffering, died
October 14, 1585.
Edmund Magauran, Archbishop of Armagh, was transferred
from the see of Ardagh in 1857 to the primatial see of Armagh,
in which he succeeded Archbishop Creagh. He was pursued by the
Lord Deputy, Sir William Russell. The Archbishop was defended
by Hugh McGuire, Hugh O'Donnell, and their followers. It was
during an attack upon his defenders, and while he was administering
the Sacrament of Penance to one of the soldiers, that the Arch-
bishop was murdered, June 28, 1593.
The four Primates of Armagh — Creagh, Magauran, Redmond,
and O'Devany — reigning within a period of thirty years, were
all martyrs for the Faith.
Malachy O'Queely, Archbishop of Tuam, was born in Tho-
mond; appointed Archbishop by Pope Urban VIII.; captured and
killed by the Puritans, October 25, 1645.
Bishops.
Maurice O'Brien: Appointed Bishop of Emly, 1567; im-
prisoned in Dublin Castle, 1584; died there March 17, 1586.
Redmond O'Gallagher, Bishop of Derry. Bom in Ulster.
One of the three Irish bishops present at the Council of Trent.
Attacked in his own house, and there with three other priests cruelly
put to death, March 15, 1601.
2i8 SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS [May,
Eugene MacEgan, Bishop-elect of the diocese of Ross. At-
tacked by soldiers who left hitn mortally wounded. Rescued by
Catholics, but died that same evening, 1607.
William Walsh, Cistercian Monk of the Abbey of Holy
Cross, and Bishop of Meath, Bom probably at Dunboyne. Ap-
pointed Bishop of Meath in 1554. Refused to take the oath of
supremacy under Elizabeth. Imprisoned in Dublin Castle, where
he endured a prolonged martyrdom for thirteen years. He escaped
in 1572; went to Spain and died at Alcala in 1577.
Patrick O'Healy, Bishop of Elphin, was bom at Connaught;
entered the Order of St. Francis, and was educated at the Uni-
versity of Alcala. Appointed in 1576 by Gregory XHI. to the see
of Mayo. Traveled to Ireland with Cornelius O'Rourke, the Fran-
ciscan, who also has just been beatified. Both were arrested imme-
diately on their arrival in Ireland, imprisoned, and put to the tor-
ture. Drury, President of Munster, who had condemned them,
used every enticement, the offer of rich benefices and positions of
honor, if they would conform. They refused, and both were
hanged on August 22, 1578.
Cornelius O'Devany, Bishop of Down and Connor, was bom
i^ 1 533 ^^ Ulster. Before his twentieth year he entered the Order
of St. Francis. While in Rome he was appointed by Gregory
XIII. Bishop of the united sees of Down and Connor, and imme-
diately returned to his native country. He was one of the prelates
who in 1587 met in the diocese of Qogher and promulgated the
decrees of Trent In 1592, he was imprisoned in the Castle of
Dublin, where for. three years he suffered incredible hardships.
He was arrested again in 1611, tried by jury, and condemned to
death; but was offered his life if he would abandon the Catholic
Faith. When he saw the hurdle which was to bear him to the place
of execution, he said : " My Lord Jesus, for my sake, went on foot,
bearing His Cross, to the mountain where He suffered ; and must
I be borne in a cart, as though unwilling to die for Him, when I
would hasten with willing feet to that glory ? Would that I might
bear my cross and hasten on my feet to meet my Lord ! "
In his report to the Propaganda, February 4, 1623, the Arch-
bishop of Dublin says : ** Cornelius O'Devany, the Bishop of Down
and Connor, being almost eighty years of age, was crowned with
martyrdom about ten years ago in Dublin, thus giving a noble ex-
ample to the whole nation."
BoETius Egan, Bishop of Ross, was born in Duhallow, Cork;
1915] SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS 219
entered the Order of St. Francis; was appointed by Innocent X.
Bishop of Ross. He was seized by the tyrant Lord Broghill, the
son of the Earl of Cork, who was assisting Cromwell in the siege
of Qonmel. Lord Broghill offered to release Bishop Egan if he
would induce the garrison at Clonmel to surrender. On approach-
ing the walls, Bishop Egan exhorted the garrison to stand resolutely
against the enemy of their religion and country. By Broghill's
orders the Bishop was then abandoned to the fury of the soldiers.
He was horribly tortured, and finally hanged with the reins of his
own horse, November, 1650.
Terence Albert O'Brien, Bishop of Emly, was educated
in Spain ; twice Prior in his native city of Limerick ; and appointed
Bishop of Emly by Urban VHL When Limerick was besieged by
Cromwell's son-in-law, the sum of fifty thousand dollars was offered
to Bishop O'Brien if he would leave the city and urge its citizens
to yield. When the city was taken, the Bishop was seized and put
to death. Turning to his flock at the last moment, he said : " Hold
fast to the Faith and keep its commandments. Murmur not against
what the providence of God allows, and by so doing you will save
your souls. Do not shed tears on my account, but rather pray that
in this last trial, I may, by firmness and constancy, obtain heaven
as my reward." October 31, 1651.
Other Bishops included in this Decree of Beatification are:
Edmund Dungan, Tertiary of the Order of St. Francis, Bishop of
Down and Connor; and Heber McMahon, Bishop of Qogher.
Priests.
Maurice Kinrechtin, chaplain and confessor to Gerald, Earl
of Desmond, was born at Kilmallock, Limerick. Imprisoned at
Clonmel, and bound there in chains. A Catholic citizen bribed the
jailer to release Maurice in order that he might celebrate Mass and
administer Easter Communion to the faithful. The jailer gave
information concerning the Mass to the government, and the
soldiers rushed in and seized the people. Although Father Kin-
rechtin, himself, escaped, he later gave himself up in order to save
the life of the master of the house in which he was about to celebrate
Mass. He was sentenced to death and hanged, April 30, 1585.
Laurence O'Moore: Remarkable for holiness of life.
Captured in Western Kerry, together with two Irishmen,
Oliver Plunkett and William Walsh. After an almost incredible
torture of twenty- four hours, he expired August 5, 1580.
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1915] SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS 2^1
Other priests included in the Decree of Beatification are:
iEneas Power, John O'Grady, Andrew Stritch, Bernard Moriarty,
George Power, Vicar-General ; John Walsh, V. G., Daniel ©'Mo-
loney, Brien Murchertagh, Donogh OTalvey, Donatus MacCried,
Patrick O'Loughran, Louis O'Laverty, Philip Cleary, Theo-
bald Stapelton, Edward Stapelton, Thomas Morrisey, Bernard Fitz-
patrick, James O'Haggerty, and Eugene Cronin.
Order of Cistercians.
Gelasius O'Cullenan : Abbot of the Cistercian Monartery
of Boyle. He was arrested in 1580, and the Protestant Bishopric
of Connaught was offered to him if he would renounce his Catholic
Faith. With him was tried Hugh Mulkeeran, Abbot of the Mon-
astery of the Holy Trinity. Both were condemned to death. Ab-
bot O'Cullenan unselfishly asked that his companion be allowed to
suffer death first.
James Eustace, Nicholas Fitzgerald: Two priests of the
Cistercian Order, who suffered martyrdom on the 8th of Septem-
ber, 1620.
Also, the Prior of Holy Saviour, and his companions ; Patrick
O'Connor, Malachy O'Connor the Abbot and monks of the monas-
tery of Magia. Eugene O'Gallagher, Bernard O'Treivir, Malachy
Shiel, and Edmund Mulligan.
Order of Preachers.
Peter O'Higgin: Imprisoned in Dublin, and condemned to
death. On the scaffold he said: "The sole reason why I am
condemned to death to-day is that I profess the Catholic religion.
Here is an authentic proof of my innocence : the autograph letter
of the Viceroy offering me very rich rewards and my life if I
abandon the Catholic religion. I call God and man to witness
that I firmly and unhesitatingly reject these offers and willingly
and gladly I enter into this conflict, professing that Faith." He
died March 4, 1642.
Richard Barry : A native of Cork and Prior of the Cashel
Community. He was tortured by fire and finally put to death by
the sword, September 15, 1647.
Others of the Order of Preachers who have been beatifled
are: P. MacFerge, with his companions, thirty-two religious of
the monastery of Londonderry; John O'Luin, William MacGollen,
222 SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS [May,
Cormac MacEgan, Raymond Keogh, John OTlaverty, Gerald Fitz-
gerald, David Fox, Donald O'Neaghten, James O'Reilly, Dominick
Dillon, Richard Oveton, Stephen Petit, Peter Costello, William
Lynch, Myler McGrath, Laurence OTerral, Bernard OTerral, Am-
brose iEneas O'Cahill, Edmund O'Beirne, James Woulf, Vincent G.
Dillon, James Moran, Donatus Niger, William O'Connor, Thomas
O'Higgins, John O'CuUen, David Roche, Bernard O'Kelly, Thad-
deus Moriarty, Hugh MacGoill, Raymond O'Moore, Felix O'Con-
nor, John Keating, Clemens O'Callaghan, Daniel MacDonnel, Felix
MacDonnel, and Dominick MacEgan.
Order of St. Francis,
Fergall Ward: Was a Franciscan and also a skilled
physician. While working among the plague-stricken, was seized
and cruelly tortured. He was hanged by his own girdle, and while
dying exhorted his executioners to return to a better life. April
28, 1575-
John O'Lochran, Edward Fitzsimon, and Donagh
O'Rourke: All priests of the Franciscan Order; were tortured
and hanged in the convent of Down, January 21, 1575.
John O'Dowd : Franciscan priest. A certain layman who had
been arrested as a Catholic, begged permission to make his con-
fession to a priest before he was hanged. This Catholic was sup-
posed to have had information concerning certain plots against the
Queen of England. The permission was granted, his enemies
believing that the priest to whom the man would make his con-
fession, could be forced afterwards to reveal the plots, under torture.
The priest was Father O'Dowd. Of course, he would reveal noth-
ing of what had been told to him. They killed him by knotting
the cord around his head, and twisting it with a piece of wood until
his neck was broken.
Daniel O'Neilan: Bom in Thomond of a noble family;
joined the Order of St. Francis, and lived in Spain many years.
On his return was seized, scourged, hanged head downward like
St. Peter, and his body pierced through with shot, March 28, 1580.
Daniel Hinrechan, Philip O'Shea, and Maurice O'Scan-
LON : All Franciscans, were so old and infirm that when the heretics
came to burn their convent they were unable to flee. The youngest
of them was over seventy years of age. They were seized at once
and killed by the sword in front of the high altar, April 6, 1580.
1915] SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS 223
Dermot O'Mulrony, Brother Thomas and Another — all
Franciscans — were seized at Qonmel and were decapitated by the
soldiers.
Pheum O'Hara and Henry Delahoyde: Franciscans.
Hanged and quartered, May i, 1582.
Also, Conor Macuarta, Roger Congaill, Thaddeus O'Daly,
Charles MacGoran, Roger O'Donnellan, Peter O'Quillan, Pat-
rick O'Kenna, James Pillanus, Roger O'Hanlan, Thaddeus
O'Meran, John O'Daly, Donatus O'Hurley, John Cornelius, John
O'MoUoy, Cornelius O'Dougherty, Galfridius O'Farrel, Thad-
deus O'Boyle, Patrick O'Brady, Matthew O'Leyn, Terence Magen-
nis, Lochlonin Mac O'Cadha, Magnus O'Fodhry, Thomas Fitz-
gerald, John Honan, John Cathan, Francis O'Mahoney, Hilary
Conroy, Christopher Dunleavy, Richard Butler, James Saul, Ber-
nard O'Horumley, Richard S)mott, John Esmond, Paulinus Synott,
Raymund Stafford, Peter Stafford, Didacus Cheevers, Joseph
Rochford, Eugene O'Leman, Francis Fitzgerald, Anthony Musaeus,
Walter de Wallis, Nicholas Wogan, Denis O'Neilan, Philip Flas-
berry, Francis O'Sullivan, Jeremiah de Nerihiny, Thaddeus O'Car-
aghy, William Hickey, Roger de Mara, Hugh MacKeon, Daniel
Qanchy, Neilan Loughran, Anthony O'Farrel, Antony Broder, Eu-
gene O'Cahan, John Ferall, Bonaventure de Burgo, John Kearney,
and Bernard Connaeus.
Order of Premonstratensians.
John Kiernan or Mulcheran.
Order of St. Augustine.
Donatus O'Kennedy: Filled many important offices in his
Order. Was hanged.
William Tirrey: Entered the Order of St. Augustine and
studied in France and Spain. On his return to Ireland he was
imprisoned and beheaded, 1654.
Donough Screnan : Suffered a very cruel death. Fulgentius
Jordan was dragged from his pulpit and put to death. Father
Redmond O'Malley was scourged, and died under the torture.
Father James Tully died in like manner; and Brother Thomas Deir
was shot.
Also, Thaddeus O'Connel, Austin Higgins, and Peter Taffe.
224 SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS [May,
Carmelite Order.
Father Thomas Aquinas: A distinguished preacher and
zealous missionary. He was taken captive in the house of a noble
family, whom' he had recently converted, and was condemned to
death, 1642.
Brother Angelus of St. Joseph, whose family name was
Halley, was bom in England, and joined the Carmelite Order in
Ireland in 1640. He was arrested and condemned to death, and
begged that his execution should take place that very day, since it
was the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. He was
killed by the sword, 1642.
Peter of the Mother of God : A Carmelite, known for his
singular piety. While on his sick bed in prison, he was informed
that he had been condemned to be hanged. Expressing great joy,
he arose from his bed, saying : " From the cross, not from the bed,
I must go to heaven." He was hanged in the thirty-third year of his
age, 1643.
Order of the Blessed Trinity.
Brothers Cornelius O'Connor and Eugene Daly: Both
of the Order of the Blessed Trinity. They were returning to Ire-
land, when the vessel on which they were journeying was captured
by an English heretical pirate, named John Plunkett One of the
passengers, thinking to save his own life, gave the information that
Brothers Cornelius and Eugene were Catholic priests going to Ire-
land to preach the Faith. Plunkett immediately hanged both and
threw their bodies into the sea, January 11, 1644.
Society of Jesus.
Dominic Collins, S.J. : Like his illustrious founder, St. Igna-
tius, he first took up the profession of arms. He was a soldier for
over fifteen years. Entered the Society of Jesus in 1598. In 1602
he was sent to Ireland, and shortly after his arrival was arrested
and imprisoned at Cork. He was hanged in that city, October 31,
1602.
William Boyton, S.J.: Was slain in St. Patrick's Church,
Cashel, while administering the Sacraments.
John Bathe, S.J., and Thomas Bathe, his brother, a secular
priest, were seized in Drogheda; tortured and shot, August 16, 1649.
Also, Edmund MacDaniell and Robert Netterville.
1915-1 SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS 225
Laymen and Noblemen.
Sir John Burke : Bom in the county of Limerick. Promi-
nent for many years because of his public devotion and zeal. He
gave up all his worldly interests in order to devote himself to works
of charity, and to accompany the persecuted priests. Arrested as
the leader of the Catholics, he was imprisoned in Dublin, but during
the plague was released. Later he was assailed in his castle because
he had erected an altar therein for the celebration of Mass. He
escaped, but was eventually betrayed into the hands of the enemy.
Life and restitution of his lands were offered, if he would renounce
the Faith. He was hanged in the year 1610— about December 20th.
Maurice Eustace : Was denounced by his own brother, as a
Catholic and a Jesuit. He was imprisoned, and Adam Loftus, then
Protestant Archbishop of London, offered to set him free and give
him his daughter in marriage, if he would renounce his Faith.
He refused and was hanged November, 1581.
Christopher Roche: Had almost completed his studies at
Louvain for the priesthood when he was obliged through ill-health
to return home. He was at once arrested and imprisoned; then
sent to London. There he endured the hardships of Newgate
prison for four months, and under the torture known as the
" scavenger's daughter," died 1520.
Daniel O'Hanan : A native of Ulster. Died in prison.
Thaddeus Clancy : Born in Limerick. Beheaded, September
IS. 1584.
Patrick Hayes: Was a merchant of Wexford. He died
after a long imprisonment in Dublin in 1581.
Francis Tailler: Had filled many public offices with great
credit. Was in turn Mayor, Treasurer, and Senator in the city
of Dublin. He was much honored by all good men. After an
imprisonment of seven years, he died in Dublin Castle, January
30, 1621.
Thomas Stritch, Mayor of Limerick. Hanged in 1651.
Sir Patrick Purcell: In his eightieth year was hanged at
Fethard, 1612.
Eleonora Birmingham : Resident of Dublin, and widow of
Bartholomew Baal, was a faithful mother, a generous patron of
the poor, and a devoted protector of priests. She was arrested
because she allowed the Sacrifice of the Mass to be offered in her
home, and imprisoned. By bribing the jailer, her escape was se-
fOL. a.— 15
226 SOME OF IRELAND'S MARTYRS [May,
cured. Her elder son, Walter Baal, became a pervert. He was
elected Mayor of Dublin, and, as the old chronicle says, " was so
hardhearted and truly venomous towards his own mother that, old
and weak as she was, he had her put into prison." He even en-
deavored to have her deny the Faith. In prison she died, 1584.
HoNORiA Burke : Bom in Connaught. When fourteen years
of age she took the habit of the Third Order of St Dominic
Erected a house in Burishoole, where, during the reigns of Eliza-
beth, James the First, and Charles the First, she devoted herself
unceasingly to works of charity. In the last persecution, under
Cromwell, this holy virgin was compelled to flee with two com-
panions to Saint's Island. There they were cruelly tortured,
stripped naked, and left in a boat to die. Honoria, however, was
rescued by a servant, brought to the convent at Burishoole, and in a
short while expired. Honoria Magaen was a companion of Hon-
oria Burke. She escaped from the hands of her mad persecutors
and fled to a wood where she concealed herself in the hollow trunk
of a tree. She was found next day frozen to death.
Also, Daniel Sutton, John Sutton, Robert Sherlock, Matthew
Lamport, Robert Myler, Edward Cheevers, John O'Lahy, Patrick
Canavan, Robert Fitzgerald, Walter Eustace, Thomas Eustace,
Christopher Eustace, William Wogan, Walter Aylmer, Peter
Meyler, Michael Fitzsimon, Patrick Browne, Thomas MacCreith,
Elizabeth Kearney, Marguerite de Cashel, Brigid Darcey, Brian
O'Neil, Arthur O'Neil, Roderick O'Kane, Alexander MacSorley,
Hugh MacMahon, Cornelius Maguire, Donatus O'Brien, James
O'Brien, Bernard O'Brien, Daniel O'Brien, Dominick Fanning,
Daniel O'Higgin, Louis O'Ferral, Galfridius Galway, Theobald de
Burgo, Galfridius Baronius, Thaddeus O'Connor, John O'Connor,
Bernard MacBriody, Felix O'Neil, and Edward Butler.
WHITE EAGLE.
BY L. p. DEGONDtJN.
I.
Chelsea, Wednesday, February i6, 1913.
ES, dear, I am at home again and every tick of the
clock tells me that you are going further and further
away. And I am sitting here before the dainty desk
you gave me a short year ago; but whether I shall
be able to write is another matter. It is not so much
that I am intensely lonely and miserable, as, so far, I
feel nothing more than a peculiar nimibness across my temples and a
heavy weight on my heart which tires and oppresses me, but the pain
is so strangely a physical one that I cannot yet estimate its value.
Only I know that I shall realize it fully by and by, and it is this
expectation which is the worst.
I dread it in a cowardly way ; unable to decide whether I should
wish the whole misery of it to fall at once in its crushing bitterness,
or to loom still like a motionless threat of agony. And it seems so
unreal to write about it quietly here, as if it was somebody else's
business and not mine; or as if I had watched some uninteresting
figure " resembling me," following a tall masculine figure " resembling
you," crossing a broad station, and stopping before the open compart-
ment of a train. It is just as I say,
I look back a few hours, and I see this man speaking to a guard,
showing his ticket, putting his small luggage on the rack; and then
standing patiently near, the woman exchanging but a few words with
him. As neither he nor the woman cared to speak; they only oc-
casionally looked at each other. Then the man had to take his place,
and the door was slammed to, and there was just a last pressure of
two extended hands before the train slowly gathered speed.
After that the woman remained motionless for a little while,
because something about her throat did its best to choke her, and
something in her was torn in two with a wrench, and her eyes burned
and felt stiflF and dry. But that was all; she knew she had to turn
away and walk out of the station and she did it. She even deliberately
called a taxi arid gave her address calmly and clearly.
Of course, I was conscious all through that this mechanical " be-
ing " was myself, though that did not interest me in the least. One
thought alone absorbed my attention, and is recurring again and again:
228 WHITE EAGLE [May,
surely, oh ! surely, this agonizing pain must soon become easier to bear !
Why does it not? Have I not read somewhere that " as soon as sor-
row reaches us, we practically begin to leave it behind ? " Yet, I have
neither power nor will to shake it off; what energy I have is centred
on one single purpose : to write. I wish you to find a word from me
as soon as you leave your ship in that far away land, so these lines
must be posted to-night. But why am I unable to think, or why have
words almost lost their meaning?. There must be many things I want
to say, though all I seem to understand at present is that you are gone.
No it is hopeless, hopeless I but perhaps there is scmiething wrong
with me. Very likely a sensible woman would look on this parting
for a year as quite an ordinary occurrence; she would tell herself
that Sydney was not in the moon, but in a country quite easy to reach.
She would not really mind, I suppose, so long as nothing would
happen to your luggage; or so long as you would keep strong and
well. She might consent to consider your health. Health, I daresay,
is a sensible thing ; but oh ! Rex, dear I I am not a sensible woman I
I mind, I mind, above all and everything! My darling, you took my
very soul from me; how shall I live even a year without you?
Reginald, dearest, I am truly sorry! In spite of my set deter-
mination, I broke down this afternoon, when I began my scribble to
you, but perhaps it is as well. Perhaps it has taken a part of this un-
natural weight which was crushing me since your last look went
through my heart, with your eyes so steady, and your mouth set hard.
I know how hard I I even think it is my perception of your streng^
of will which kept me so calm, not only then but all through the journey
back.
It was Madame Dubois herself who opened the door for me.
I fancy that she, good little soul, had been watching for my return.
I don't know what I looked like, but I was quite composed, though
the skin of my face seemed so stretched and tight. Her kindly brown
eyes fastened on me, and, being French, she could not possibly remain
silent.
" If madame will just give me her coat. That's it — and madame
will find a gopd fire in her little morning-room; I thought it would
be cosier there to — ^to take her tea."
Of course, I could only nod (my lips were so dry) ; but she was
pleased with my submission, as, when she went downstairs, I heard
her saying to the maids:
" Poor dear, it breaks one's heart to find her so gentle and quiet
And, mind you, I know what it is, moi to part from one's husband."
Perhaps she knows, good creature (though I fancy she has little
enough to regret, if what we heard was true) ; but even if her husband
had been a pearl among men, it would not, and could not, have been
1915.] WHITE EAGLE 229
the same, since you are you, my Reginald, could it? It was hard to
go upstairs, though I set my teeth and went to your room first There
was nothing there to speak of your going; all was in its own place,
as if you were to come back in an hour's time; and though my throat
felt horribly uncomfortable again, the outward appearance of things
was a distinct relief. Besides, in a vague way, it spoke of hope. This
I knew Was the work of little Dubois, and at that moment I felt
ashamed of my usual impatience with her, when she goes on and on
chattering to me. In the meantime, I caught sight of the blind which
you had pulled up crooked, of my bent safety pin you had thrown
against the fender. I walked in, settled the blind and picked up
the pin so as not to meet these too eloquent witnesses again. After
that I closed your door and went to the morning-room.
There, I drew an armchair near the fire, sat far back in it and
closed my eyes. How tired I felt! Every particle of my brain
seemed to ache as the thoughts moved on; yet it was more painful
to try and stop them than to let them follow their course. Image after
image stabbed as they passed by; every sound was an echo of your
voice or of your footsteps. I could feel the very rocking of your train
steaming away; I could catch your glance, a fraction of a second, as
in a flash of light. The slightest motion of my own fingers on the
arms of my chair would tear at my heart, and, with the sensation of
a btuning wire, bring me more vividly to the cruel reality.
How long I remained thus, I cannot tell; time meant nothing to
me; and though vaguely conscious, at last, of my wish to rouse myself,
I had not the courage to move a muscle. It was only when one of the
maids brought in tea that the spell broke.
You know the big soft round eyes of Mary ; they look like those
of a kind dog.
" Please, ma'am," she said timidly, " will you try and eat some-
thing. Master said — ," and as I involuntarily looked up at her,
she flushed hotly, coughed, and took heart again. " Leastwise," she
went on, " he said to Madame Dubois that we were all to take good
care of you, ma'am."
I tried to smile and thanked her, but oh ! Rex dear, you could not
have expected me to eat then I
Same evening, 9:30.
My Own Dear Rex:
I was interrupted while writing to you by a ring at the telephone.
It was your mother inquiring if you had caught your train without a
rush, and telling me that you had dropped a pocketbook in her house
when we called. I know which it is ; it is the old brown leather one,
and you won't want it. I copied all the addresses from it in your
230 WHITE EAGLE [May,
new address book, and put the letters in your attache box. I expect
it is all right ; but I will make sure to-morrow. She also asked me to
go and dine with her, but I could not have done that. She is not
alone, she has Max ; and I should have seen you before me the whole
time ; just as I saw you there this afternoon on our way to the station.
I daresay it was selfish of me, but it was more than I could have faced
to-day.
Nancy called in the evening. I did not object to seeing her; you
know what a dear she is, and how tactful she can be. She always
manages to be a comfort one way or another. Besides, after a few
cheering, sensible remarks, she talked without eflFort about other things
and other people, even about herself and Max and Joan. She was
quite worried about these two she said.
Rex, dear, my big kingly Rex, you have often refused to believe
in my selfishness; yet, this evening while listening to Nancy, I knew
thoroughly that nothing in the world touched me but your sorrow and
mine, and that others* troubles refused to take a clear significance.
At least it was like that for some time, until a trivial incident took
place. Nancy had brought her Skye terrier, but had left him in charge
of the maids, as he is a regular little nuisance in a strange room. He
is fully as inquisitive as a cat, but much more awkward, and, as a rule,
half of his mistress* attention goes in watching him and preventing
mischief. To-day the little creature must have found the kitchen door
open, as it had run up, and was now whimpering piteously outside,
giving now and then a sharp bark of impatience. At first I paid no
heed to him, as Nancy seemed determined to leave him where he was ;
then suddenly it struck me that I was inflicting on the poor little
wretch the very pain which I found so hard to bear. I was keeping
him away from the being in which was centered all his power of love,
merely to save a few flower-vases, or the paper basket from being
knocked over. I stood up and opened the door.
"What did you do that for?" asked Nancy surprised.
" Oh ! never mind," I said, with attempted carelessness, " he can-
not do much harm, and it is impossible to speak when he is barking."
She gave me a quick glance out of those keen eyes of hers, and I
saw that she remained puzzled. But this insignificant little act of
pity had softened my blood. It began to dawn on me that Max and
Nancy's sister were also wretched and discouraged, and that they also
could be helped. I cannot tell how it was, but an intense wish to save
others from sorrow and parting came over me; and, so to speak, I
deliberately put your dear self behind me (near enough to lean against,
though), and I gave my whole attention to Nancy's words. What
she said made me think that things were getting rather strained be-
tween your mother and the two young people ; and she spoke with a
I9IS.] WHITE EAGLE 231
scrap of irritated contempt of your mother's attitude. She declares
her to be so wrapped up in her younger son, that she practically refuses
to face the possibility of his marrjdng, sooner or later, and, though
praising Max for being such a dutiful son, Nancy by no means admires
his meek patience and perpetual hesitation. She thinks it is time for
him to assert himself.
" Besides," she added, " my father is banning to show signs of
annoyance. Joan has steadily refused several most eligible young men,
and had not a proper excuse to pve for doing so."
On the whole Joan is imhappy, and Max worried. He seems more
than ever unable to face your mother, because she has not been well
lately, as you know. As for Nancy, she is not far from being con-
vinced that half of your mother's nervous trouble is put on for Max's
benefit, and she is decided to bring things to a climax at the shortest
possible notice.
" You know," she concluded, " it is the only way. It woulcf be an
act of pure charity towards them all to bring this uncomfortable state
of affairs to an end, and Nemo, dear, you could help a great deal, if
you would take Mrs. Camberwell in hand. She has always got on very
well with you."
" Ye— es," I said vaguely.
"At any rate she would listen to you."
" She always listens," I remarked.
"Yes, I know; and that is why most people, and particularly
Max, can't say three words to her. Her expectant silence knocks
down all their arguments before they can formulate them ; but, surely,
she does not disconcert you like this."
" My dear Nancy, I have never argued with her about anything."
" What do you mean ? "
" Well, she is very fond of Reginald, in a way, but not as she is
of Max. Therefore, we never clashed. She did not mind his marry-
ing me, or somebody like me. Do you understand ? "
" But I can't see what is so superior in Max that she should make
such an idol of him. He is a dear boy, but I would just as soon have
Reginald." And as I smiled a little, her dear face beamed. She
leaned forward and took my hands.
" Since we seem to agree about Reginald," she said brightly, " you
are bound to help me. I know you are fond of poor Joan, and, after
all. Max is Reginald's brother."
" I am fond of Max also," I said.
"Well, that is just it; we must both put our shoulders to the
wheel for their sake, since they are such silly children."
When she stood up, she put her two hands on my shoulders, and
looked keenly into my eyes.
232 WHITE EAGLE [May,
" Did you think me a heartless intruder for coming to disturb you
to-night?'* she asked abruptly.
"Nancy I"
She shook me gently. " The truth," she said, " nothing but the
truth."
" Well," I began, compelled by her frank honest face, " a little bit,
but only at first. After that—"
" Go on."
"After that I — I thought it would help me to do something to
make others happy, if I could."
" I thought it too," she said quietly. And b^inning to refasten
her coat, she added, " That is why I mentioned this to you now, and
those young people will get a double chance if you join me in helping
them."
" You did not tell me any of your plans," I remarked. " How are
we to set about it?"
But she only shook her head.
" All in good time," she answered, " I will let you know. In the
meantime, go to bed early."
" I will ; I feel wretchedly tired."
"And Nemo—"
"Yes?"
" You must try to sleep in real earnest."
" Of course."
" It is not 'of course ;' I know you. There is not to be any think-
ing about all sorts of things ; and getting into a panic about trains going
wrong; and people catching cold and all such nonsense."
I think I smiled again, but it was a very tremulous little smile;
and I daresay she saw it because she only gave me a good hug, and
called her dog and was away before I could even open my lips. Yes,
she is a dear ; but she cannot do much for me so soon. Oh ! Reginald,
how I want you! The world seems so empty while you are away!
I cannot even pray to-night, I can only accept God's will ; but that He
knows we both do ; and perhaps He does not ask more, just at first.
He knows the human heart so well, and He is so full of pity. Oh ! my
darling, what an intense comfort to feel that we have between us not
only one heart, but one Faith. May God be eternally thanked for it!
XL
Chelsea, Saturday, February, 1913.
I wonder where and when my numerous epistles will reach you,
dearest, as they have been posted as soon as written, without the least
inquiry about mails. I only know that they must come to you in quick
19151 tVHiTE EAGLE 233
succession (some of them together), with the hope of comforting you
a little in the lonely evenings. I say " evenings " because I know how
busy your days will be ; still, I perhaps should say " mornings," as with
me the beginning of each day is far the crudest moment of it all.
One wakes up generally with such an easy sense of rest and comfort ;
then one becomes aware of a " something " invisible, silent, threaten-
ing, eagerly waiting to seize its prey. And the poor little "cowed
prey " happens to be one's own very sore heart, which no amount of
shrinking will save ; then pang after pang shoots through one until full
consciousness has come, and with it utter misery. You see, I know it
well ; it is an experience we all get in time ; but I do not want to give
it undue weight now. Besides, even if we cannot help suflFering, we
can certainly fight against depression, as you said, and I love to think
that you will be aware in each of my letters that at least I have been
trying to do that. One can do so much for love; and love is such a
strange incomprehensible thing, after all.
Do you know what makes me say this? Well, I hardly think
you remember catching my wrist when, at the station, I jumped out
of the taxi and tried to lift your valise. The fact is that your
fingers unconsciously closed on mine as if they were made of steel,
though at the time I scarcely noticed it; but a day or two later
my hand felt as if bruised when I was writing or opening a door —
not really, you know, only it had a funny little twinge in it. At
first I thought I had strained my wrist, then it suddenly dawned
on me that my "tyrant" was the sole author of the trouble.
And what do you fancy happened? Well, the realization of this
small incident shot a keen sweet thrill through my being. No gift
could have brought me more pleasure: pain is truly the highest ex-
pression of love and the gift which stays, be it mental or physical. But
how contradictory is human nature: we can cling to pain and yet in-
stinctively attempt to avpid it. I shrink from the persistent sorrow
caused by your absence, yet I would not shake it from me and feel
happy in my loneliness. I revel in any unexpected twinge at my
wrist, yet I do not cause it voluntarily at any time. What a wonderful
mystery it is; but how clearly it points out that pain can and does
indeed come in some inscrutable way from God's own love.
But it was not of any of these things that I wanted to talk to you ;
rather was it of what happened here at the b^inning of last week. I
told you all about Nancy having decided on a plan of campaign, and
how I had failed her in the first instance.
I had gone to spend the afternoon with your mother, to try and
find out what she would be likely to do if Max made up his mind to
speak out; but as soon as I opened fire — ^which is a mere figure of
speech, as they could have been nothing less fiery than my first words —
234 WHITE EAGLE [May,
she turned the conversation on you, and most decidedly kept it
there. Naturally, under these conditions, I became as limp as the
little lace handkerchief which is her habitual toy. It was no use ; some-
thing else would have to be tried, and I retired a good deal crest-
fallen. My pride in the idea of helping others with wonderful heroism
and a detached attitude had received a blow. I daresay it is for the
best, but I felt very small at the prospect of meeting Nancy again. I
need not have troubled, she was perfectly nice about it : " My dear
girl," she said simply, " if what I have asked you to attempt had been
an easy thing, it would have been done long ago. It will take our
united wits to deal with Mrs. Camberwell ; you may take my word for
it. We must persevere, that is all," and she laughed quite pleasantly.
But the wonderful thing is that we shall not have to try again.
The "unexpected" has happened. We were all astonished and de-
lighted, at least I was, until Nancy's troubled expression, as well as
various other odd symptoms, awoke new suspicions. But let me ex-
plain.
Two or three days ago I met Max at tea at the Stevenson's.
From the moment I arrived I saw that something was wrong, and that
he wanted to speak to me. He had been handing round some cake,
but he soon made a bee line in my direction, and as he became rooted
before my chair he must have appeared to press this particular cake
on me with a curious insistence. The fact was that he had accepted
an invitation for Friday evening at the Marchmont's because Joan was
to be there, and that your mother had afterwards announced to him
her intention of going also; "counting on him to escort her." He
could not get out of it; but how he would contrive to please both
Joan and his mother he could not imagine, and neither could I. Poor
old boy, he just stood there so pathetic and so forgetful of the people
about us!
Do you know, dear, that though his eyes cannot compare with
yours, he is extremely good-looking; besides he is a picture of honesty
and strength. How your mother manages to twist him round her
finger is beyond my comprehension. Well, let that pass. What he
wanted was that I should promise to come to the Marchmont's at any
cost.
" You see. Nemo," he went on in that nice brotherly way of his,
" I know that you don't care much to go anywhere just at present
while you are so cut up about Reginald, and all that ; but if you don't
come to help me through it will be the end of everything. Millicent
Marchmont has something up her sleeve, she says. She means well,
but her ideas are not always to be relied upon. They belong a little
too much to the *sink or swim system,' and Joan won't stand things
as they are any longer. As for the mater, each time I have attempted
1915] WHITE EAGLE 235
to make a move, it has made matters worse. Then I am told that her
heart is very weak."
"Who told you that?"
" Old Pemberton. He told me not to upset or worry her."
" And you don't think Pemberton is making a mistake? "
" I cannot tell. She won't consult anyone else, but if something
happened to her through me — "
I nodded.
" I'd rather put up with anything than that, but the whole aflFair
must be decided one way or another. If only she would consent to be
moderately reasonable, it would be easy to arrange. Joan is so gentle
and generous and unselfish."
I nodded again.
" I wish to goodness I could find out what is the right thing for
me to do."
He looked so distressed that I thought it time to limit his con-
fidences.
" Suppose, to begin with, that you put away this cake," I said
dryly, " I refuse to look at it any longer."
His face fell.
"And you may bring me another cup of tea," I went on, "but
(and I retained my cup a second) you will have my support to-
morrow if you want it. Nancy and I will do our best."
His eyes brightened and his whole countenance changed.
" Nemo," he said very low, " I knew you were a brick, but I
scarcely expected your turning up trumps like this at a minute's
notice."
" Here," said I, " one lump of sugar and very little cream, and
Max—"
"Yes?"
" Don't make a mistake. I want neither the teapot nor the um."
He turned away with a boyish grin, and seemed so suddenly
elated that I began to fear I had promised more than I could really
do; but it was useless to return to the subject, and besides I had
no opportunity of doing so.
Yesterday, however, Nancy came to dine en tete-^tete with me
before going to the Marchmont's, and once more we planned and dis-
cussed, but I may add with no tangible result. All we could decide
was to study how the land lay, and to snatch at any possible chance
of presenting to your mother our view on the question of Max's
marriage, while preventing anybody from getting at daggers drawn.
As you see, this was vague, to say the least of it.
When we arrived at the Marchmont's we found a greater number
of people than we had expected. Mrs. Marchmont had, it appeared,
236 WHITE EAGLE [May,
discovered one of her periodical "unappreciated geniuses," and she
certainly was doing her best for him. What a pity this woman at-
tempts to spread herself over such a large area. She could do so
much if she would concentrate her faculties on something worth do-
ing! As soon as she saw us, however, she came forward and seized
Nancy by the arm.
" My dear," she said quickly in her usual impulsive manner, " Joan
is in the far-off room with — ^you will see; and your father and
Max are talking together near the window here. Now, please don't
upset my arrangement; it is all going admirably. I had another
long talk with Max this afternoon ; I know everything, and I will see
him through. So, please, Nancy, and you Nemo, you will not inter-
fere; promise me that."
She stood there looking at us alternately with those gray mesmeric
eyes of hers. She has, as you know, no real claim for beauty, yet at
that moment, with her jet-black hair and eyebrows, her long curling
lashes and very eager face, and with a clinging dress of soft blue
material, she looked impressively handsome. Nancy hesitated.
" I don't think we wish to interfere," she said slowly, " that is if
things are going on all right."
"Well, they are! I have seen to that, and it was much easier
to manage than you all thought. If you would only sometimes take
the bull by the horns as I do."
Nancy smiled, a little ironically I thought.
"As you do, my dear," she answered; "nobody else could do
that."
Mrs. Marchmont gave her a quick glance, but appeared to think
that whatever was under Nancy's words, was not of sufficient im-
portance to trouble about just then. She turned towards me.
" If you go quietly and unconcernedly to the furthest comer of
the next room. Nemo, you will see what I allude to. But you must
not look surprised or excited or even unduly interested ; take it both
of you as if it meant nothing."
The deliberate way in which Nancy lifted her eyebrows expressed
that, so far as she was concerned, it might indeed " mean nothing."
Happily Mrs. Marchmont's sharp restless eyes were turned away. I
suppose that you guess, as we did, that Millicent has succeeded in
bringing together once more, in spite of past coolness, Joan and your
mother, but what you could not have foreseen any more than we, was
the manner in which she had set about it.
While stopping here and there to exchange a few words with
people we knew, Nancy and I had steadily manoeuvred in the same
direction to find out for ourselves what sort of wires our friend had
elected to pull. Clearly some of them had already done their work;
I9IS1 WHITE EAGLE 237
one glance made us aware of that; but not only was the result un-
expected, it seemed too good to be true. Your mother was now five
or six yards from us and Joan was sitting near her, a rather shy
look in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She looked wonderfully
slight and dainty against the imposing figure bending towards her
with a most unusual friendliness; and, considering the discouraging
condescension with which the girl had been treated for so long by
Mrs. Camberwell, she must have found there a very sudden change;
but what puzzled me most was that she took it with so little resent-
ment. It seemed as if the keen, affectionate, humorous glance fixed
on her now had dispelled the memory of the recent past. Besides,
there is no denying it, the charm of your mother was at work. She
has fully, when she chooses, the power of " coaxing the birds from
the bushes," and she is still very beautiful. Last night she looked
every inch an empress : her gray hair was almost a crown, her dress
fell in perfect lines ; she was wearing her wonderful topazes, and you
could not have said whether the golden light in her eyes came from
them, or whether the stones merely reflected it in a thousand rays.
I think that for an instant even I fell under the spell.
Major Burke had found me a cozy comer sufficiently far from
the piano. (Did I tell you that Mrs. Marchmont's latest "lion"
was a sort of overlooked Paderewski?) This Major was giving
me a few interesting details about him, but I found it difficult to listen,
and it was with a smothered sigh of relief that I heard somebody
striking a few introductory chords. I so much wanted to think
coherently.
It was as if I had suddenly landed in an unknown world where
situations had been curiously reversed, as not only Joan and your
mother appeared on the best of terms, but half-way across the room was
Max, his whole attention centred on a girl who, so far as I knew,
was an utter stranger. But, Reginald, dear, what a girl I She would
have called forth the rhapsodies of a seventeenth century writer.
Tall, queenly, with dark hair, luminous blue eyes, well-cut red lips,
flashing teeth, a complexion as if tinted by the southern sun ; a girl
demanding admiration from all, and whose charm no bom man and
very few women could resist. And, there was no doubt about it, at
that moment, Max had scarcely eyes large enough to gaze at her to
his satisfaction. What did it really mean? What had Millicent
Marchmont at the back of her head?
I glanced around for Nancy, but she had been cornered by two or
three people. Still, by dint of persevering I succeeded in meeting her
eyes. She, also, had noticed how the land lay, and I fancied that
she was not only puzzled but troubled. Did she know something more,
I wondered. However, you know what sort of a kaleidoscope a very
238 WHITE EAGLE [May,
full drawing-room can be. When a little later on, I would have had a
chance to speak to her she had vanished ; Joan was no longer there and
the whole scene had shifted. It made me hesitate. By this time
music was again exercising some of its spell on me; several of your
favorite pieces had been played, and had gripped my heart as with a
vise; by degrees I was dropping into my inner selfish self, and
ceasing gradually to trouble about others. Of course, I answered
some remarks of my immediate neighbors now and then, but they
found me particularly dull. As for Joan and Max, I attempted to
salve my conscience by telling myself that until I understood more,
I could do nothing to help them. It was better to wait.
A little gem of Mozart had just been played. We had heard it
once in Paris, you and I, on a soft, clear ideal night. How I
remembered it all! It was whilst the last notes of it were dying off
that Joan appeared close to me. She laid her hand on my shoulder,
casually yet I felt, by the gentle pressure of her fingers, that she wanted
me to slip away. This was an easy matter enough, and presently we
found a refuge in Millicent's private sanctum at the foot of the broad
staircase. It is rather a gloomy room with its oak panelling and its
upholstering of " cuir de Cordoue." Even the gold touches here and
there are insufficient to relieve it, but at night, with a good fire, red
shaded lights and deep cushioned chairs, it is very pleasant and snug.
Indeed I sank into my armchair as if into a bed. Joan pushed a foot-
stool near the fender and sat at my feet.
" Tell me, Nemo," she asked, " do you think me awfully selfish to
break up your evening and drag you here for my special benefit? "
** You silly child," I answered, still a little scrap ashamed of my-
self, " is it not for yours and Max's sake that I am in this house to-
night? Not that I did anything useful so far, I confess."
She glanced up, then down again at the fire. She was very quiet,
her arms encircling her knees.
*' I know," she said, " not many people here have been given a
chance to call their soul their own. Millicent has such a sweeping way
of turning the tide."
** Never mind ; she seems to have turned it in the right direction
at last."
The girl did not answer at once; then her soft brown eyes were
raised to mine:
••Do you quite believe that?" she asked.
I cannot tell you why, Reginald, but this question made me think
of the uneasy look I had noticed a while ago on Nancy's face.
" Why, my dear child," I nevertheless answered, " has not every-
thing been getting on splendidly? I could not believe my eyes when
I saw you chatting quite intimately with Mrs. Camberwell."
1915.] WHITE EAGLE 239
"She did all the chatting, Nemo; I listened."
"And smiled?"
" O yes, I smiled. But it is not Mrs. Camberwcll who worries me,
it is Max."
" How ? I don't quite understand."
Joan was looking down again, following absently the flickering
of the flame.
" Did you see Max to-night? " she asked.
" Certainly."
"And what did you think of the girl?" (Her voice soimded
natural; rather too much so.)
'' The girl? By the way who is she? "
" I heard that she belonged to an old Polish family. She is in
London with her father ; her name is Maryna Lowinska."
"Is it? Oh, well! I thought that she was strikingly beautiful,
and if she is also rich and of good blood, and bewitching, I b^n
to understand Millicent's plan. She is the very young woman to
frighten Mrs. Camberwell into reasonable behavior."
"Mrs. Camberwell? Yes, perhaps."
I bent forward and put my hand on Joan's shoulder.
" Joan," I said, " speak out ; what is at the bottom of this ?
What are you driving at?"
She smiled, a cutting little smile.
" Oh," she said with a shrug, " I cannot explain, but if it is really
this girl who has succeeded in bringing such a change in Mrs. Camber-
well towards me, there must be good grounds to dread her. Mrs.
Camberwell does not get disturbed by shadows."
"My dear, I don't follow you."
" Don't you? Well, if this girl is a menace to Mrs. Camberwell's
views or projects, she is a worse one to me."
The white-robed girlish figure had not made a movement, the
half-shaded eyes were still watching the fire, but the words had come
like brittle fragments of ice.
" Joan," I observed reprovingly, " is not such a statement rather
a reflection on Max? Has he given you any reason to think such a
thing of him ? "
The dainty shoulders were shrugged impatiently, shaking oflF my
hand:
" Oh," she said bitterly, " Max has no backbone."
** My dear," I replied warmly, " Max has a big generous heart,
every inch as true as yours, and perhaps a little broader! "
Rex, dearest, the sarcasm which came on that young face gave
me a positive shock. She leisurely looked up at me and laughed
cynically.
240 WHITE EAGLE [May,
"Oh, yes," she said, "you are quite right there: he has the
broadest heart I ever met. Everybody can fit in it, and there is still
dancing room."
For a second I felt ready for a rather sharp answer, but I re-
called all the petty miseries which Joan had endured through Max's
apparent wavering, also that I had come to help her and not to make
matters worse. I bent forward again, unfastened the hands still tightly
clasped and took them in mine.
" Listen, young lady," I said as quietly as I could, " there is no
sense in arguing about Max's faults or virtues between us, since in spite
of everything you are fonder of him than I ever could be. But don't
you think that you are making a mountain of a molehill? Surely it is
not the first time (nor will it be the last) that he either chats or laughs
with a handsome girl other than yourself."
" She is not merely a handsome girl," said Joan doggedly.
"Well, she is neither an angel nor a demon, and besides what
influence could she acquire over Max in one evening? "
The long-lashed eyelids flickered slightly, but were not lifted.
" He has met her several times before," she said, "did you not
know it?"
(I did not, but I pooh-poohed that.)
" What if he did? " I asked. " I suppose it all entered into Milli-
cent's plans, and after all Vho wills the end wills also the means.'
Don't be a little goose, Joan."
She shook her head and tried to answer, but her lips trembled,
and in a second her head was buried on my knees, while silent sobs
were shaking her.
Reginald, dear, I never loved the child as much as I did then.
I knew too well what it would have meant if anyone, at any time, had
had the power to step between you and me. So it was the deepest of
fellow feelings which made me lift up the tear-stained face, kiss the
tremulous lips, and try my utmost to comfort the sore little heart.
I was a long time in bringing poor Joan to a more cheerful view of the
future, so much so that I wondered what sort of explanation we should
have given if somebody had unexpectedly come upon us. She looked
such a child with her soft bare arm aroimd my neck, and her ruffled
hair and wet silken lashes. Eventually, however, her tears were dried,
and we stole upstairs to Millicent's dressing-room to remove all traces
of them. When we went back to the drawing-room somebody was
singing Siegfried's Love Song, and the voice was rich and full. But
Joan slipped her arm through mine :
" Let me stay with you. Nemo, until all this horrid music is over,
and don't let anyone steal you from me. I could not stand any small
talk at present. Could we not sit where we shan't be noticed? "
1915.] WHITE EAGLE 241
Which we did. Once or twice we saw Max, who was standing,
search the whole room with a glance. But when I opened my lips to
make a remark about it, the girl who held one of my hands pressed it
hard.
" Please don't," she b^ged.
Still, she gradually became herself again, and when she left me
later on there was nothing strained about her gentle face. I went
home fairly early. In his eagerness Max insisted on seeing me into
my motor.
"Well," he asked, "what do you think of this evening. Nemo?
I saw you with Joan, and it went all right with her. It is a step for-
ward, isn't it?"
" Yes, I daresay it is ; but the race is not run, my dear boy."
" Oh, I know that Practically we are only starting."
"And also. Max, you will have to be careful about this Polish
girl."
" Miss Lowinska? "
" Yes."
"Well, you know, I must insure her making a pretty deep im-
pression on the mater."
" Quite so ; but there is no need of doing the same on Joan."
" Oh, I say. Nemo, Joan should not be so silly."
"Very good; I can't say any more, but a word to the wise is
sufficient. Good-night and let me know how things progress."
" I will, of course. Safe home ! "
I heard him making some observation to Barkers, and I leaned
back with a curious kind of fatigue. It was not that I was absolutely
tired, but a number of conflicting emotions had been aroused during
the last hours, and the result was an ardent longing for your presence,
Rex. I wanted you near, and you alone. I wanted rest and silence
with you. I wanted to feel that we could leave the world behind and
not miss it!
That night everything had been so hollow I I had found it hard
to speak with those of our friends who thought it kind to mention
your name. You had been so near and yet so hopelessly far. My
darling, I have a very small provision of courage ; when you won me,
you drew, I fear, a very worthless prize I
[to be continued.]
VOL. a.— 16
flew JBooks^
LONELINESS? By Robert Hugh Benson. New York: P. J.
Kenedy & Sons. $1.35 net.
In Monsignor Benson's posthumous novel, the last l^^acy of
a fertile and industrious mind, he has given us a study of modern
life, and of one of its most vexing and insistent problems — the
problem of mixed marriages.
His heroine, Marion Tenterden, a girl without wealth or
social prominence, or distinctive charm or brilliance, finds herself,
through the possession of her " one gift," a marvelous voice, the star
of the operatic season, and the idol of the London public. Almost
simultaneously, the son of a wealthy nobleman falls in love with
her, or rather — ^as events later prove conclusively — with her per-
sonality, as revealed in the glamour of the footlights. His affection
is reciprocated, and the engagement is sealed, though, for reasons
politic, it is kept a profound secret.
Little by little, Marion allows the strong, romantic faith and
tender piety of her youth to ebb out of her life. The one unsevered
link with her former devout life, is her friend, Maggie Brent. When
Marion comes to her for advice, she is, at least, swift in discerning
the cause oif the girl's tepidity and indifference. " It isn't desolation
or dryness or anything like that at all, my dearest," she observes,
" and you mustn't flatter yotu-self into thinking so. I expect it's
somebody you've met who's turned your head a little Or else
it's all this excitement about the opera."
Events drift along, and, though the girl is troubled by their
course, she offers no very active resistance. The crisis comes when
Marion, facing the choice between her lover and her Faith, resolves
to abandon the latter. ** Religion," she tries to persuade herself,
" whatever else it was for, was certainly never meant to trouble
and upset people."
But she has not reckoned with divine grace. If Benson has
taught one lesson with luminous insistence, it is that " whom the
Lord loveth, He chastiseth," and that the soul stripped of its every
earthly solace and ambition, breathes, in the rarified air of suffering,
the need and desire of the Supreme Stay, and flies in its nakedness
to God. With startling swiftness that process is enacted in the
ipiSl NEW BOOKS 243
soul of Marion Tenterden. The loss of her glorious voice, which
means eclipse in the worid both social and artistic; the death of her
friend, Maggie Brent, and her crushing sense of isolation, bring
her to a sense of her own self-deception, and the preeminent claim
of God upon her soul.
The solution does not come without pain, but in the reassertion
of her old faith, the element of struggle disappears, and a calm
assurance takes possession of her will. We leave her in a loneli-
ness that, in a human sense, is baffling and complete, but a loneliness
instinct with a Presence more divinely intimate than all the attach-
ments of the flesh and the world.
Trenchant, as always, in his analysis of character and mental
process, sensitive in recording spiritual experience as a live wire
in transmitting messages, Monsignor Benson has given us in this,
as in his other works, a novel solidly constructive, purposeful, and
persuasive, bold in its treatment and definite in its issues.
THE FEAR OF LIVING. By Henry Bordeaux. $1.35 net.
THE AWAKEinNG. By Henry Bordeaux. New York: E. P.
Button & Co. $1.35 net
Henry Bordeaux, in all his novels, sets before the present
generation of Frenchmen the true ideals of the Christian family.
An ardent Catholic, he denounces sternly the evils of divorce, marital
infidelity, and race suicide, and upholds strongly the virtues of
sacrifice, courage, fidelity, self-forgetfulness, and love of home and
country. He himself has called novel-writing the first of all the
literary arts, because " it comprises autobiography, metaphysics,
realism, and poetry."
The Fear of Living frowns down upon that modem spirit by
which people shun responsibilities, avoid risks, flee from danger,
and strive to procure for themselves the greatest amount of pleasure
with the least amount of sacrifice, renunciation and labor. The
heroine of the story is Madame Guibert, a perfect tjrpe of Christian
mother, who rejoices unselfishly in the happiness of her children.
We know of no stronger or more courageous soul in fiction than
this lovable and devout mother.
Henry Bordeaux shows himself a consummate artist in the
exquisite farewell scene between the whole-souled hero, Marcd,
and the weak Alice, who rejects his suit at her worldly mother's
command. A companion picture is the parting of Marcel with his
244 NEW BOOKS [May,
sister Paula before his departure for service in Africa. The book
is filled with excellent character sketches, such as the perfect servant,
Fanchette, the absent-minded but kindly botanist, M. Loigny, the
sensuous worldling, Isabel Orlandi, the heartless and calculating
Madame Dulaurens and her hen-pecked husband.
The Awakening is advertised as a solution of the divorce prob-
lem and a formula for married happiness, but we question the value
of the solution and its formula. The story, in brief, is this: A
good but unintellectual woman, Elizabeth Derize, is married to
a litterateur, who at first loves her ardently and sincerely. As
she fails, however, to understand his literary ambitions, his artistic
emotions, and his mode of thought, he begins to dislike her intensely.
While they are drifting apart, he meets a young girl, Anne de
Sezery, who possesses all the qualities, intellectual and artistic, that
his wife lacks. When his wife rightly questions him about this
woman, he avows his passion, and soon after deserts his home
for his paramour. His wife at once sues for a divorce, and he
angrily enters a counter-suit. In the interim, his lawyer- friend,
Philippe Lagier, acting on the advice of Albert's mother, gives the
deserted wife a copy of Albert's diary. She reads this in great
excitement and curiosity, and her eyes are at once opened, and her
soul awakened to her many faults. Anne de Sezery heroically dis-
appears from the scene, once she recognizes that there is a possibility
of her lover's being reconciled to his wife. The reported facts do
not ring true.
HISTORY OP THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, FROM THE REN-
AISSANCE TO THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By Rev.
James MacCaflfrey. Dublin: M. H. Gill & Son. $4.50.
About five years ago Dr. MacCaffrey published a history of the
Church covering the period from the beginning of the French Revo-
lution to the rupture of the Concordat of 1801, and the success of
the book was such as to justify a second edition in two years. This
has encouraged him to complete the treatment of the whole period
generally denominated "modem'* by putting forth the present
work, which in character and external appearance resembles its
predecessor.
Those who have read and admired the earlier book will not be
disappointed in this one ; and one who has himself been engaged in
the task of lecturing in history will not be slow to recognize in Dr.
1915.I NEW BOOKS 245
MacCafFrey's manner of presenting his subject, precisely those
methods that would be developed by practical experience of the
needs of intelligent students. In works of this kind one does not
look for novel views or strikingly original theories, but for com-
pleteness and clearness of presentation, which qualities are well to
the front here. Even in such portions of the book as deal with
subjects other than purely narrative, as, e. g., the chapter on the
causes of the Reformation, or the general state of Ireland in the
early sixteenth century, there is an almost mathematical precision
and arrangement, which, however it may detract from literary value,
will be welcome to those who wish to use the book as a basis for
further study or as a text for lecturing. For either purpose it is
admirably adapted. And we would add a special word of praise for
the eminently sensible bibliographies prefixed to each chapter.
They contain just the names one would reasonably expect to find
there, and nothing that ought not to be available in any good library.
THE WAR IN EUROPE. By Albert Bushnell Hart. New York :
D. Appleton & Co. $1.00 net.
AMERICA AND THE WORLD WAR. By Theodore Roosevelt.
New York : Charles Scribner's Sons. 75 cents net.
The list of war books includes many that are useful and many
more that are not. We do not hesitate to assign these two to the
former category. Professor Hart gives what people wish to know,
Mr. Roosevelt, what they need to know. The political, racial and
commercial conditions of each nation, its military strength, its aims
and resources — these are points that must be known before one can
understand the War. The War in Europe gfives them concisely. In
the five chapters that form the first part, there is found a careful and
clear statement of what Europe is in its races and nations, each
country being considered separately and with an adequate array of
statistics. Then come seven chapters on the War, dealing with its
causes (remote and proximate), the diplomatic moves immediately
preceding it, the sovereigns, ministers and other important person-
ages, the state of public sentiment, the question of neutrality, the
methods of warfare, etc.
In a book entirely interesting, one might single out the author's
insistence on the fact that the key to the situation is the absence of
identity of race units with national units, and his analysis of the re-
lations of the Balkans to the rest of Europe, as these portions are
the most necessary for the general reader. The book is quite free
246 NEW BOOKS [May,
from partisanship, is genuinely informing, and of moderate price.
Unfortunately it lacks a good map.
The contents of Mr. Roosevelt's book do not call for extended
comment, as they have already been made public in speech and writ-
ing many times, and his advocacy of improvement in our military
resources has already begun to bear fruit. He declaims against the
pacifists, the all-inclusive arbitration treaties, the indifference to
the Hague Convention, and the folly of sitting with our arms folded
when we are unprepared to protect ourselves. Mr. Roosevelt's at-
titude strikes us. as sane and patriotic. Those who are ever crying
"jingo!" and "militant!" must remember that peace is not an
end in itself, but may be an ignoble substitute for national honor
and right, and is best loved by those who are willing to fight for it
The United States has never yet entered a war in anything like a
prepared condition, and cannot afford to forget the lessons of 1812
and 1898. And if Mr. Roosevelt has his way we shall not forget
them. Of course we would all like universal peace, with a system
of international arbitration, but in the meantime our duty is to pro-
tect ourselves, and thus to ensure our own domestic peace ; and lack
of preparation only invites attack, for, " when a strong man armed
keepeth his court those things that he possesseth are in peace." A
good sample of the kind of argument on the other side, is that which
points to China as a country unprepared for war, and therefore in
peace. It would be nearer the truth to say that China is unprepared
for war, and therefore in pieces. We are grateful to Mr. Roose-
velt for pulverizing this sort of nonsense, and for emitting a virile
note when other tnmipets are giving an uncertain sound.
PATRIOTISM. By Rev. P. F. Kavanagh, O.F.M. Dublin: M.
H. Gill & Son. IS cents.
This little brochure is an appeal to Irishmen on behalf of the
virtue of patriotism. The four chapters are an analysis of what
patriotism is in itself, of national rights and of sham patriots. In
this last portion is a tribute to John Mitchell, the author's ideal of a
patriot
THE GRAVES AT KILMORNA. By the Very Rev. Canon P. A.
Sheehan, D.D. New York: Longmans, Green & Co.
$1.35 net
The late Canon Sheehan in his last book has sounded for his
native land a note of warning so solemn as to be almost a dirge.
I9IS.] NEW BOOKS 247
His theme is the rising of '67 and the swift retrogression that fol-
lowed it. The outlines of the story, and of the characters, are broad
and shnple. No page is lacking in interest
The hero, Myles Cogan, is a Fenian leader, a youth fired with
patriotic zeal, dear-sighted and courageous, who sees the utter im-
practicability of the revolution, but determines to sacrifice all in the
cause of Irish regeneration, if not Irish freedom. The nation,
though apathetic, has not sunk into actual stupor, and the conviction
of Myles G>gan and the tragically patriotic death of his comrade,
Halpin, in his all but single-handed stand against the British
soldiery, arouse the population to a pitch of momentary enthusiasm.
From the dock Myles G>gan, in a daring and impassioned speech,
vindicates the cause of Irish independence, condenms English dom-
ination, and defends the principle of his own action, " that as the
blood of the mart3rrs was the seed of saints, so the blood of the pa-
triot is the sacred seed from which alone can spring new force, and
fresh life into a nation that is drifting into the putrescence of decay."
After ten years of penal servitude in an English prison, broken in
body, and all but shattered in mind, Cogan returns to his own land.
In the interim of his exile, he finds Ireland has forgotten her
ancient loyalties and principles, and sunk herself in the materialistic
degeneracy and gold-greed of the world at large. The embers on
the hearth have been stamped out, and patriotic Ireland is a thing
of the past.
Father James, trusted and life-long friend of Myles, does what
he can to dispel his friend's depression, and directs him to a
position of intellectual leadership in the nation; for he says it is
no longer with " the pike and the gun, but with the voice and the
pen that Ireland's salvation can be worked out."
His estimate of the situation, which we feel to be the author's
own, is comprehensive and illuminating. The problem confronting
Ireland, he believes to be more than political, nor does he think
it justifiable to lay the full blame of the nation's degradation at Eng-
land's door. Referring to the calamitous conditions of '98 and
'48, " we brought forth," he says, " strong men in storms and dark-
ness." The dearth of intellectual and national life he attributes to
"political unrest, destructive of every attempt of civilizing the
people; and, added to that, the most absurd systems of education
in the world 1 " Superficiality and a disdain of things Irish has
become the fashion, and a hollow optimism, that looks on the past,
not as a glorious heritage, but as a night that is over and gone.
248 NEW BOOKS [May,
The author seems to indicate that the time is not ripe for Ire-
land's complete emancipation ; that the loosening of the bonds must
come gradually, and from within, from the reanimation and develop-
ment of her religious and intellectual life.
If his criticisms are unsparing, they are not animated by a
spirit of carping or bitterness, but by a deep concern in the welfare
of his own land. It is this intense loyalty that lends power and
conviction to his every utterance, and the fact that he has spoken
his final word of warning and entreaty to his people, will add em-
phasis to this last patriotic appeal.
ST. CLARE OP ASSISL By Ernest GiUiat-Smith. New York:
E. P. Dutton & Co. $3.50 net.
The field of Franciscan history, literature and art, has a
strange fascination for the modem mind. That there is no point of
contact between that century of spiritual renaissance and mysticism
and the commercial materialism of the present day, is a fact easily
assumed, but not so easily justified. The hands on the clock are
again pointing upwards ; in modem guise the idealism and vision of
the twelfth century is laying hold on the twentieth. This explains,
in some measure, the revival of interest in the informing power of
that century, the Franciscan spirit.
But it is regrettable that in the field of primitive Franciscan
history, the initiative should come from those who, though they
may sympathize with, cannot be expected to grasp thoroughly the
animating principle of that spirit. We are glad to note that Mr.
Gilliat-Smith is a Catholic, and is qualified by his researches to take
his place among Franciscan chroniclers.
The life of St. Qare, and the early history of her Order, is
a no less fertile bone of contention than that of the Friars Minor
and their gentle Founder. Into this field of bristling controversy,
Mr. Gilliat-Smith has entered, basing his observations on an ex-
amination of the original sources, and frequently taking issue in his
conclusions with contemporary Franciscan critics.
Part I. deals with the life of the Foundress, but her personality
is somewhat obscured by the controversial method adopted, and by
many unnecessary digressions.
Part II. treats of the mles observed by the Poor Qares in
the first years of their foundation, and the appendix gives in full the
Latin-English text of the Rule drawn up by St. Qare and officially
sanctioned during her lifetime.
1915] • NEW BOOKS 249
There is room for minor improvement in the writer's use of
the word " religion ** for " order/' and his somewhat indiscriminate
use of the expression " albeit" The value of the book would also
be increased for purposes of reference by the addition of an index.
LANDMARKS. By E. V. Lucas. New York: The MacmiUan
Co. $1.35 net
Mr. Lucas' latest book is advertised as a moving-picture novel,
because he takes the swift, selective methods of the cinematograph
and adapts them to fiction. Our author picks out a number of
notable episodes or " landmarks " in the life of his hero, Rudd
Sergison, and describes them with that kindly humor and good-
natured satire of which he is a master. His hero is an insufferable
cad, who does nothing worthy of recording from the day of his birth
until the day of his marriage with his golf-loving, cricket-loving
sweetheart, Helen Brodce.
We catch brief glimpses of English school life, the amenities
of a political election, the inner workings of a newspaper office, the
point of view of a medical student, the ambitions of an author, the
wiles of designing young women in search of husbands, the lavish-
ness of an American millionaire, and the nothingness of Bohemian
life.
BY THE WATERS OP GERMANY. By Norma Lorimer. New
York : James Pott & Co. $3.00 net
This record of a simimer holiday pilgrimage from London to
Rothenburg and back, made by two women, at a cost of seventy
dollars apiece, has considerable charm, enhanced by a love story
that meanders pleasantly through it. The bits of description are
graphic and unhackneyed and the author's comments and reflections,
set forth informally and with a casualness that is attractive, show
observation, with freshness and originality of thought. Altogether,
Miss Lorimer has provided a very readable volume, and she has
made such careful note of each item of expense that it should prove
a useful guidebook to those who may wish to undertake a similar
excursion in the desired future, when peaceful saunterings about
Europe shall have become possible again.
THE ORCHARD PAVILION. By Arthur Christopher Benson.
New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons. $1.00 net
The scheme of this latest book from the gifted pen of the
250 NEW BOOKS [May,
Cambridge essayist, is both original and pleasing. The Orchard
Pavilion, in its rustic, Gloucestershire setting, is the holiday rendez-
vous for three Oxford lads, who compare, in charmingly candid
fashion, their philosophical creeds, and who, after an interval of
many years, meet again under similar circumstances to discuss the
practical application of their respective «riews of life.
These three characters are typical of three very distinct phases
of present-day thought : the agnostic, pseudo-scientific, materialistic
attitude; the dualistic, religious interpretation; and, midway be-
tween the two, the compromise of an exaggerated aestheticism that
seeks to explain all by the principle of Beauty.
Harry KnoUys, the advocate of the religious view, supplies, we
are made to feel, the key to the situation. But he does so by short-
cuts so surprising, and by the help of a theology so inadequate, that
we cannot wonder that his hearers, if impressed, are not convinced
by his arguments.
" I can't hold on to things with my mind, only with my heart,"
he confesses, after a long life spent as a Church of England clergy-
man. And again : " I can't prove these things ; I just seem to know
them You want proofs, you think perhaps that I make assump-
tions. But so do you I We each of us assume that the other exists.
We can't prove it ; and yet nothing which you call proof can begin at
all till we have both of us made that assumption. It is true that I
go further and assume God. God and the soul — I am not sure of
anjrthing else; but I can't show you what I think I see "
The outgrowth of such an attitude is, of course, the distrust of
reason, the destruction of the intellectual character of Christianity,
and the relegation of all religion to the sphere of subjective, human
experience.
Such an issue is borne out in the present example. Harry
Knollys is of that type who, as the author's brother observes in
By What Authority? cannot reconcile charity and dogma, and so
relinquishes the latter.
The book has good qualities, and cannot fail to arouse inter-
est. The style is refreshing and direct, the characters appealingly
human, and the solution proposed, if not satisfactory, is at least an
earnest attempt to probe the meaning of life and test its values.
THE REVOLT OP THE ANGELS. By Anatole France. New
York: John Lane Co. $1.25 net.
The lustre of M. France's name fails to disguise the degrada-
1915.I NEW BOOKS 251
tion of his talents in writing this book, nor do they display them-
selves sufficiently to condone it, even, one would think, in the eyes
of those who are wont to plead the excuse of art for art's sake.
It is a gross and sacrilegious phantasmagoria, of which the meaning
and intention are as hard to discern as if it were a delirium, while
the motive for its existence is equally obscure. One hesitates to
accept the obvious inference that the same perverseness that impels
boys to scrawl obscenities on church doors has animated a French
Academician. Healthy-minded people will gain no pleasure from
reading the book, and to all who retain even a vestige of veneration
for Christian belief, it will be extremely offensive.
THE HAUNTED HEART. By Agnes and Egerton Castle. New
York: D. Appleton & Co. $1.35 net
Despite its distressingly lurid title, the authors have produced
a deverly-written novel, and one far beyond the average of the
usual " light fiction."
The outlook is sane, discriminating, and well balanced; and
from first to last it supplies an interest that is essentially human. But
if the preliminary drafting of characters is incisively keen, these
characters can hardly be said to be convincingly or consistently devel-
oped. In more than one instance, they meet the "shafts and arrows
of outrageous fortune " in a manner so unwarranted, that we feel
their personality has been sacrificed to the exigencies of the plot
If these defects can be overlooked — ^and they are not of such
material importance as seriously to affect the interest of the story —
the variety of types, from the nouveau riche Mrs. Duvenant, with
her idolatry of rank and her pretty doll-like daughter, to the ascetic,
large-hearted awkwardness of Father James, the diversity of ideals
portrayed with a discerning sureness of touch, and the very earnest
underlying problem, will not fail to absorb and hold the reader
throughout.
The changes of scene are swift : the Scottish moors, the draw-
ing-rooms of London, the slum-quarters of the same metropolis,
the Italian Riviera, with its orange groves basking in the sunlight.
The central theme, the love of Ian Maclvor and Moma, with
its beautiful prelude, tragic climax and final solution, teaches con-
vincingly, but without didacticism, the utter ineffectiveness of a
love built merely upon the quicksands of human emotion to weather
the greater storms of life, and emerge from them integral and un-
scathed.
252 NEW BOOKS [May,
The spiritualization of this love is shown to be the only founda-
tion, bulwark, and sure warrant of its permanence.
It is refreshing to meet with such a narrative, in the hetero-
geneous medley of novels, deriding the dignity of marriage and the
reality of the supernatural that flood the literary market. Such
an example as this is at least an indication that the perception of
moral values, the spiritual spark, is not quite extinguished in the
fictional writing of the day.
ALSACE AND LORRAINE, FROM CJESAR TO KAISER. By
Ruth Putnam. New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons. $1.25.
This is not exactly a " war book," but of course it is pretty
closely connected with the War, as it gives an account of the two
provinces that are possessed by Germany and desired by France,
and will therefore probably loom large in the discussion of peace
terms if France is victorious. As the title suggests, the narrative
begins with Caesar's entrance into the r^on during his Gallic
campaign, and ends with the Treaty of Frankfort. Anyone who has
attempted the study of this history, knows how difficult it is to
master, not to say write about, for from the Treaty of Verdun (to
go no further back) these lands have been debatable ground, and the
difficulty has certainly not been lessened by their changing frontiers
and the maze of their feudal relations. Even after their acquisition
by France in the Thirty Years' War, their connection with the
empire was not completely severed, and thus their political status is
pretty hard to make clear to a reader accustomed to the sharp
national divisions of our day. But all the world knows how, once
they had been brought fully within the circle of the French Mon-
archy, they became so thoroughly Gallic that forty years of German
rule have not sufficed to make them give up their French sympathies.
So they are still debatable land, and will probably remain so until
the differences of French and German, or Teuton and Latin, if you
prefer, are swallowed up by some greater problem that affects the
destinies of Europe as a whole.
To tell this story clearly and briefly is, then, no small achieve-
ment, and the author deserves praise for the extent to which she has
succeeded. A Catholic would naturally like to know more of the
religious side than she has given, but still the book is sufficiently
complete, and is admirably adapted to the needs of that class of
readers for whom it is evidently intended. A special word of com-
mendation is due the maps, which are numerous and excellent.
1915] J^EfV BOOKS 253
KITCHENER, ORGANIZER OP VICTORY. By Harold Begbie.
Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co. $1.25 net
This is a short biographical sketch of the man who took up the
duties of the War Office last August and has been mainly respon-
sible for the conduct of the British campaign since. Far from be-
ing a blind admirer of Lord Kitchener, the writer of the present
little book is of the opinion that he has been over-rated. But of his
genuine, if limited, ability in his own field there can be no doubt, and
his prominence just now is ample reason for the book, which is of a
familiar conversational character, enlivened with interesting anec-
dotes, and containing portraits of the War Secretary at different
periods of his life.
THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE MYSTERY. By Rev. John N.
Figgis. New York: Longmans, Green & G). $1.60 net.
The six lectures of this volume were delivered at the General
Theological Seminary of New York during the Lent of 1913. The
writer treats of the essential character of the Anglican Church, her
promise of the future, her stand for personality and asceticism, her
universality as an historic, sacramental, and democratic Church, and
her idea of authority.
We found many things to agree with in these interesting pages.
Calvinism is indeed hideous, unjust, and oligarchic; Quakerism is
fundamentally not even Christian; the new Protestant theology is
Pantheistic ; the cult of pseudo-mysticism is incompatible with the
Christian faith ; the Protestant doctrine of conversion is un-Catholic
and unchristian; a man that repudiates the foundations of the
creed ought not to remain an Anglican; the Bible as sole teacher
of the Gospel gives us either an anarchy of conflicting interpreta-
tions, or else a dead system, a mere book religion; the self-denial
of the Gospel is not cruel, unnatural and inhuman, but the true
method of advance on every side of human life, and the sine qua
non of all spiritual development
On the other hand, there is a great deal of vagueness and inco-
herence in the author's vain attempt to defend the idea of authority
without admitting the infallible authority of either the Church or
the Pope. The fallible authority that Mr. Figgis defers to, when-
ever his conscience permits, is not an authority worthy of the name
— it is the subjective individualism with which, under another name,
he is continually finding fault We can hardly blame him as an
Anglican for rejecting an authority which expects to be obeyed as
254 NEW BOOKS [May,
the infallible mouthpiece of Jesus Christ, for once he gets that far,
he will be ready to make his submission as many another High
Churchman before him.
We tire a bit of hearing, on page after page, of the " coldness,
the over-lucidity, and the legality of scholasticism, the incubus of
the Papacy with its superstitious accretions, the Roman Curia ignor-
ant of true religion, die absolutism of Catholicism, the unchristian
spirit of the Jesuits, and the like." It will be news to many that the
Modernists condemned in the Enqrdical Pascendi were " nearer
to a true conception of authority than their adversaries." A man
who can make such a statement may be well read, but he is ignorant
of the very elements of logic and theology.
MAKERS OF AMERICA: FRANKLIN, WASHINGTON, JEF-
FERSON, LINCOLN. By Emma Lilian Dana, Model School,
Hunter College. New York: Immigration Publication So-
ciety, so cents.
In a practical and simple way, the volume before us under-
takes to convey to the immigrant especially, and to some of the
less favored native-bom as well America's message of universal
liberty and opportunity. It is one of a series of volumes prepared
for the use of foreigners by the Immigration Publication Society,
whose work is to be warmly commended both for its praiseworthy,
patriotic aim, and for its sincere endeavor to keep absolutely aloof
from anything like religious injustice. Mr. John Foster Carr,
the Director of the Society, has exercised scrupulous care to " play
fair " with the immigrant; and we are certain his cause will suflfer
nothing by reason of his respect for truth.
The volume before us will possess particular interest for the
fairly educated and intelligent foreigner who, in studying our lan-
guage, feels the need of something else to read besides the grammar
and the children's books which so often are regarded as sufficient
for his wants. It will help to foster that intelligent appreciation of
American institutions which is the best fotmdation of real patriotism.
THE VATICAN: ITS HISTORY, ITS TREASURES. New
York: Letters and Arts Publishing Co. $10.00 net
Very little needs to be said about the sumptuous volume bear-
ing the above title, except that it achieves quite thoroughly the
purpose of the editors, and puts before the English reading public
a work of standard authority on the greatest museum of art in
1915.I NEW BOOKS 255
the world. It is safe to predict that the careful reader will acquire
from it an intimate and accurate knowledge of the Vatican, incom-
parably superior to that of the average traveler who visits the
wonderful collections in the home of the Popes. Indeed, imless one
reads Italian, and owns Erasmo Pistolesi's immortal folio volumes
on // VaHcano, there is perhaps no better guide available than the
book before us.
Messrs. Begni, Grey, and Kennedy imdertook the editorial prep-
aration of The Vatican over two years ago. They adopted the wise
plan of securing thirteen contributing authors, including men like
Marucchi, Baumgarten, and Reichenf dd, whose special qualifications
to treat of the subjects assigned them are beyond all question.
Among the thirteen are professional archaeologists, historians, and
museum-directors, of international fame, many of them officially
connected with the Vatican itself ; and the sum of their knowledge
represents pretty much all that the human race knows about the
topics discussed in the book.
The volume is very beautifully made. The photographs were
prepared under the supervision of the contributing authors, and in
some instances represent details never before photographed. For
the establishing of a satisfactory acquaintance with the art treasures
of the Vatican, the present book is easily without a rival among
English publications.
REPRESENTATIVE ENGLISH COMEDIES. By Various Writ-
ers. Under the General Editorship of Charles Mills Gayley,
LittD., LL.D. Three volumes. New York: The Macmillan
G). $6.00 net
The aim of these three volumes is to indicate the development
of English comedy by a selection of its representative specimens,
arranged in the order of their production and accompanied by
critical and historical studies. It is not a history of the drama
properly so called, nor a mere editing of individual plays and
dramatists. It is more restricted in scope than the former, and it
differs from the latter by giving a commentary upon the characteris-
tics of the various species of comedies in their order of production.
Most of the studies in these volumes deal with authors and
their plays. Volume I. discusses Heywood, Udall, Stevenson, Lyly,
Pede, Greene, and Porter; Volume II. treats of Ben Jonson, Chap-
man, Marston, and Edmonton; Volume III. deals with Dekker,
Middleton, Rowley, Fletcher, Massinger, Brome, and Shirley. Some
2S6 NEW BOOKS [May,
of the studies are more general, as the editor's three introductory
essays on the beginnings of English comedy and the comparative
view of the fellows and followers of Shakespeare.
The critical essays that precede the plays in these volumes
include an outline of the dramatist's life, his contribution to comedy,
his relationship to writers in England and abroad, and an exposi-
tion and criticism of the play itself.
The text of the comedies are faithful reprints of the best
originals. The spelling and language have been preserved as they
were, although the punctuation and the style of certain letters
have been conformed to the modem custom.
THE PRINCIPLES OP CHRISTIAKITY. By Rev. A. B. Sharpe.
THE GOD OF PHILOSOPHY. By Rev. F. Aveling, D.D. St.
Louis : B. Herder. 45 cents each.
These two volumes are new editions of the excellent treatises of
Father Sharpe and Father Aveling, which were reviewed in the
pages of The Catholic World when they first appeared. They
are invaluable books to put in the hands of an agnostic seeker after
the truth. Dr. Aveling has added a few pages to his treatment of
evolution, and Father Sharpe has added some words to his chapters
on Mysticism, and on Space and Time.
HALF HOURS. By J. M. Barrie. New York : Charles Scribner's
Sons. $1.25.
This volume contains four plays : " Pantaloon," " The Twelve-
Pound Look," " Rosalind," and " The Will." The best known and
the best of the four is " The Twelve-Pound Look." It satirizes the
man of to-day — hard, coarse, and lacking ideals — whose only re-
ligion is the religion of success. " The Will " brings out clearly
the utter folly of fighting all one's life for gold. The moral tone of
these plays is not very high, for divorce is commended and the idea
of sacrifice ignored. There are too many stage directions given by
the author. He seems determined that there will be no controversy
about the meaning of any particular line.
THE FRUIT OF THE TREE. By Mabel A. Famum. St. Louis :
B. Herder. $1.00.
The Fruit of the Tree is a novel which aims to show the in-
ability of Socialism to remedy the evils of the modem industrial
1915.] J^EJV BOOKS 257
state. An impossible heroine, Valerie, leaves her wealthy home in
order to teach Socialism to her fellow-workers in a New England
cotton mill. She preaches infidelity, free love, violence and murder,
until she falls in love with Eugene, the kind-hearted manager.
She begins to realize her love for him when the strikers are on the
way to his house with arson and murder in their hearts.
We found the story unconvincing, and on many of its pages
sinning against the probabilities.
THE GREAT MIRAGE. By James L. Ford. New York: Harper
& Brothers. $1.35 net
Those who remember The Literary Shop will find much to re-
mind them of it in this latest work by Mr. Ford ; for, as in the earlier
book he turned the searchlight of his satirical humor upon the
management of popular periodicals, so in this novel he lays bare the
machinery of the sensational newspapers; likewise, as in the former
he drew attention to the untouched wealth of vital material to be
found in New York life, he now defends the city against the mis-
representations of it by journals of the type he assails.
"The New York created by the Sunday supplements of the
sensational press," is the great mirage which the author demolishes
very entertainingly, using as a medium the vicissitudes and gradual
enlightenment of Kate Craven, who comes from her village home
to make her living at newspaper work in New York, which is to
her what the said supplements have represented it Mr. Ford
ruthlessly exposes the tricks and artifices by which public interest
is stimulated and sustained in order to increase circulation; the
false impressions, deliberately manufactured, of sharp contrasts
of luxury and starvation ; of philanthropic activities of fashionable
women; of the life of the stage, the restaurants, and the pave-
ments; and he also depicts the intensity of the struggle to maintain
a foothold within the office of the paper: the jealousies and intrigues
of the members of the staff. It is caustic reading, but instructive,
and it has the ring of truth, a qnality which predominates through-
out the varied incidents of the book.
The real city disclosed to us is what the author, speaking
through one of the characters, Telford, calls "a paradise for a
poor man of talent or agreeable manners, or any other good qual-
ities;" where it is still possible to live within one's means in quiet
dignity and comfort and with an assured social position. His
designation of this as " the real New York of the cross-streets,"
VOL. 0.-17
258 NEIV BOOKS [May,
supplies a want in the phraseology of definition, and may readily
pass into popular usage.
In both matter and manner the book is . journalistic, with
the correlated merits and defects; the presentment of character is
photography rather than analysis. The novel is a document that
stands alone, and is of importance. Mr. Ford has produced nothing
approaching it in value during the twenty years that have elapsed
since the appearance of The Literary Shop, and there should be a
large circle of readers for this authoritative study of the city he
knows and loves so well.
PAMPHLET PUBLICATIONS.
The United States Bureau of Education sends us the following pamphlets:
City Training Schools for Teachers, by Frank A. Manny; School Savings
Banks in the United States and Abroad, by Mrs. S. L. Oberholtzer; Curricula
in Mathematics, by J. C Brown, and an Educational Directory which contains
a list of the professors, principals, directors, and presidents of the various
educational institutions in the United States.
The Catholic Educational Association in its February Bulletin reprints
Rev. Thomas Crumley's article on Christian Doctrine in the Primary Grades,
which appeared in the September, 1914, issue of The Catholic World.
The Committee of Fourteen of New York City have just issued their
report of the work done the past year in their great fight against commercialized
vice.
The Paris Chamber of Commerce has sent us the first of a series of
bulletins called Facts About the War,
The Austro-Hungarian Consulate of New York has issued a booklet
called Austria-Hungary and the War. Most of the writers in this presentation
of Austria's side of the case in the Great War are well-known men in the
diplomatic service.
The America Press sends, us an excellent little pamphlet on the Ethics
of War, by R Masterson, S.J. It is a reprint from the December number
of the Irish quarterly review, Studies.
The Catholic Truth Society of Pittsburgh publishes an excellent little
brochure by Rev. T. F. Coakley, entitled The Roman Catholic Church; For
What Does She Stand f His answer is: For the Bible, for authority and cer-
tainty in religion, for the entire Gospel, for the Christian family, and for re-
ligious education.
The Advocate Press of Melbourne, Australia, sends us a pamphlet on The
Labor Party and Secular Education.
The Loyola University Press of Chicago, 111., has reprinted in a five-cent
pamphlet Father Poland's well known tract, Find the Church.
We have received from the office of The Irish Messenger (Dublin) the
following pamphlets (5 cents each) :
The ''Little Flower" of Jesus. A brief record of the life of Sister Teresa
of the Child Jesus.
St. Joseph. A novena of meditations, by Rev. J. McDonnell, S.J. A
series of practical meditations on the life, office, and sanctity of St Joseph.
Easter With Christ and His Friends, by S. M. M., is intended for young
readers, and gives them in picturesque form an account of the Resurrection
mom and the risen life of Christ
ipis-l N£^ BOOKS 259
The Soldier Priests of France. The Comtesse de Courson relates in this
pamphlet the heroic service rendered in the present conflict by French priests
at the front These individual records of the bravery and self-sacrifice of
French ecclesiastics, and the effect it has inevitably produced, are both inspiring
and consoling.
Scenes From the Passion, by Rev. J. McDonnell, S.J. Eight scenes from
the history of the Passion based on the Gospel narrative, with details amplified
by the testimony of St Bridget and Catharine Emmerich, are here presented
in realistic and moving form.
The Holy Hour, by Rev. J. McDonnell, S.J. describes the origin and
spread of this devotion, and supplies two methods for making it
Life of St. Patrick. A succinct and readable record of the Saint's life
and miracles, in which the writer supplies delightful quotations from the
Tripartite Life.
The Australian Catholic Truth Society of Melbourne publishes a pamphlet
entitled : Little ThMse, by " Miriam Agatha," an account, adapted for children,
of the early life of the "Little Flower."
FOREIGN PUBLICATIONS.
Allocutions Pour les Jeunes Gens, by Paul Lallemand. (Paris: Pierre
Tequi. 3frs.) The Oratorian, Father Lallemand, has just published the third
edition of his addresses to the boys of the ficole Massilon of Paris. The best
sermons in the book are those dealing with the Immaculate Conception, St
Josq>h, the Blessed Eucharist, and the knowledge of Jesus.
L'Ame de la France d Reims, by Monsignor Baudrillart (Paris: Gabriel
Beauchesne.) Monsignor Baudrillart, Rector of the (Catholic Institute of Paris,
delivered this discourse at the basilica of St Gotilda in Paris, soon after
the burning of the Cathedral at Rheims. He sketches briefly the history of this
beautiful Cathedral, and, as a patriotic Frenchman, naturally, deplores its
destruction.
Prudens Sexdecim Linguarum Confessarius, by Michael d'Herbigny, S.J.
(Paris: Gabriel Beauchesne. 2frs.) Frequently priests in this country are
called upon to hear the confessions of penitents who speak a foreign tongue.
This little book of Father d'Herbigny is so arranged that a priest can hear with-
out difficulty confessions in sixteen different languages. Out of a dozen little
manuals of this kind that have appeared in the last ten years, this is unques-
tionably the best
Conversations Latines, by C H. Dumaine. (Paris: A. Tralin. ifr. 60.)
This Latin conversatinal guide is written chiefly for priests who travel about
Europe either as tourists or as members of international congresses, pilgrimages
and the like. Its excellent Latinity is due in great part to the Benedictines of
Famborough.
Figures de P^res et Mires Chritiens, by Abbe H. Bels. (Paris: Pierre
T^qui. Vol. 3. 2frs.) We reviewed the first and second volumes of these
deyout and practical sermons in the October number of The Catholic World.
In this third v(^ume, the Abb^ Bds gives us brief sketches of the fathers and
mothers of men like Bishop Newmann of Philadelphia, Dom Bosco of Turin,
Count Potocki of Galida, and the Abbi de Ravignan of France. In a series
of clear-cut pictures, the author teaches the children of the rising generation
loyalty to the Church, fidelity to duty, respect for authority, horror of sin,
charity for the poor, and love of Jesus Christ
The Rational and the Imaginative Elements in Religion. By
Abbe Clodius Piat. There was a time when Fraser, Tylor, Lub-
bock were names to conjure with in the comparative study of
religions. But a powerful reaction has set in since the publication
of The Making of Religion by Andrew Lang in 1898; Portman's
History of Our Relations with the Andamanese in 1899; Howit's
Native Tribes of Southeast Australia in 1904; Monsignor Leroy's
Religion des Primitifs in 1909; and Father Schmidt's numerous
works issued since 1908. All these have revealed that savage tribes
without exception believe in a Supreme Being, unborn and imdying,
Creator of the world, Source and Sanction of the moral law, the
Incomprehensible and Ineffable One. Around this Being myths
have naturally grown up. But the mythical element has not pre-
ceded the rational element ; rather the contrary ; it may have ob-
scured, it has not destroyed, this latter. Often " primitive " men,
like children, do not take seriously the stories they weave about
the Divinity. The Greek philosophers tried to purify popular re-
ligion; Voltaire and his contemporaries to destroy it. In Chris-
tianity, as elsewhere, imagination has lent its aid to devotion. This
is not wrong. But in presenting Christian teachings we must be
careful not to offer an)rthing as true that is not indubitably estab-
lished. We are no longer of the generations which built the
Gothic cathedrals. The point of view has changed; Christian
apologists must adapt themselves to the new angle of vision. —
Revue du ClergS Frangais, April i.
The Tablet (March 6) : Another liturgical tempest has arisen
in the Anglican Church over a proposed revision of the Prayer Book.
A resolution has been adopted by the two Houses of the Canterbury
Convocation recommending that the changes and additions be " em-
bodied in another volume, or schedule, to be sanctioned by Authority
for optional use for such period as may be hereafter determined."
Of the one hundred and sixty-two changes many are unimportant,
but on others the conflict of opinion seems irreconcilable. These
concern the legalizing of Mass vestments; the practical abolition of
ipis.] FOREIGN PERIODICALS 261
the Athanasian Creed; the rearrangement of the Canon of the
Communion Service, whereby the Prayer of Consecration is to be
brought immediately after the "Sanctus," and followed by the
Prayer of Oblation and the Lord's Prayer; and the permissive
Reservation of the Sacrament.
The Bishops of Ely and Exeter attacked the measure, urging
that the introduction of a new volume would merely accentuate
the differences of use, and endanger the unity of the Church, while
to allow people to settle their form of worship by a process of
criticism, would strike at the reverence which should be at the heart
of the spirit of worship. The Dean of Canterbury notes that the
only authority that could sanction such proposals is Parliament
and, although the Prayer Book itself is accepted on this authority,
the Bishop of Oxford faintly, and Lord Halifax loudly, protest
against bringing spiritual matters before civil authority. The Dean
and Sir Edward Clarke further attack the amendments themselves
as involving disastrous innovations in doctrine.
The Irish Theological Quarterly (April) : Rev. M. J. O'Don-
nell, D.D., treats The Historical Development of the Idea of Domi-
cile in Roman Law, the school of Bologna, and canon law. Rev.
J. Kelleher continues his discussion of Market Prices, with special
reference to Dr. Qeary's recent treatise on usury. Father Kelleher
says that the Church's " emphatic condemnation of usury, which it
is useless to try to deny or explain away, is a clear application of
the general principle of justice which she maintained, that in con-
tracts of sale articles should exchange according to an objective
equivalence of value. The introduction of the common estimation
as a standard of value, simple and complete as it appears, can only
serve to confuse the issue We may find some difficulty in
understanding how any real objective standard of value could ever
be generally observed in contracts of sale This difficulty arises
from the nature of the economic organization of which alone we
happen to have any actual experience If we once succeed in
ridding our minds of the idea of the inevitability of competitive
bargaining, and if we remember what we are so frequently reminded
of, the prevalence of legal prices in the Middle Ages, we shall be
able to understand how, with the prices of the most ordinary com-
modities and services fixed by law or custom, on that basis there
was always available sufficient data for estimating value objectively,"
262 FOREIGN PERIODICALS [May.
Revue du Clergi Frcmgais (March i) : E. Vacandard points
out in what danger French institutions in the Far East now are,
and how short-sighted the policy of the French Government, which
persecutes the religious Congregations which form the main support
of national interests. A. de Poulpiquet discusses the educational
value of the study of St. Thomas. The form of the Saint's writing
is rigidly plain, disconcertingly concise, and so simple that one is
tempted to overlook its depth. His masterly treatment of the
three principal intellectual acts, the formation of concepts, judg-
ments, and reasoning, however, is incomparable. St. Thomas'
philosophy should not, in spite of what some over-zealous admirers
have said, be taken as the last word; he is a guide to further
progress, not a barrier to thought. -J. Bricout quotes some of the
late Paul Deroulede's war poems, dealing with the hoped-for return
of Alsace-Lorraine to France.
Studies (March) : German and Slav in the Middle Ages ex-
poses the misstatements and errors of The Making of Western
Europe, by C. R. L. Fletcher. Ideals at Stake, by A. J. Rahilly,
describes how the world has suffered from a catastrophe of the
ideal as well as the actual. "The coming age will be definitely
better or definitely worse than the preceding." Fidelity to Christian
truth alone can make it better. The Rev. T. Corcoran, SJ.,
writes on State Monopoly in French Education. He ends with the
hopeful words : " But the leaven of good is undoubtedly working,
and those who supported loyally the cause of sound education in
that country in dark and evil days, may well take heart of grace
when they note the anxieties and searchings of thought that have
come on their privileged adversaries even in the midst of their
seemingly victorious self -congratulations." The Latest Gospel
of Science is a criticism by Sir Bertram Windle of the annual
address, or addresses (this year there were two, one in Melbourne,
the other in Sydney), by the President of the British Association.
" Let us eat and drink — and, it may be added, sin — for to-morrow
we die. Such is the new gospel of science, an old enough gospel,
tried and found wanting years before its latest prophet arose to
proclaim it to the world." Le Pensee Sociale d' Albert de Mun,
by Francois Veuillot, is in French. " His generous and passk>nate
love for the lowly crowned his name with an aureole of respect and
sympathy. His strong and unsullied patriotism, enlightened by
19151 FOREIGN PERIODICALS 263
Faith, enhanced this deserved popularity, and the present War,
which with a remarkable insight he foresaw and predicted, carried
that popularity to its zenith. He was for two months a most
eloquent and expressive echo of the soul of France; and the whole
of France, from President to the most obscure citizen, plunged in
grief at his death, came to salute his coffin. In that coffin rests
a great Catholic, and even the indifferent understand all that the
patriotism and devotion of Albert de Mun owed to the intensity
and integrity of his Faith. And now the Government, that but
lately refused to cross the threshold of our churches, has come and
bowed down at the foot of the altar in order to do him homage —
symbol and prelude of that reconciliation for which the illustrious
Catholic had labored upon earth, and which he will achieve from the
heights of heaven." In the Democracy of Dialect, Arthur E.
Qery writes : "It has been cause for perpetual remark that, for their
size and population, the United States have contributed sing^arly
little to the literature of the English language, which they speak.
Various explanations have been offered, as that Americans are not
educated or not interested in literature. Both statements are pat-
ently untrue. I suggest that the real explanation is that American
writers, like Bums in his English writings, and Bacon in his Latin,
are composing in a language that is not their own, and earning
literary mediocrity for the reward. If they would throw the
English language into Boston harbor and take courage to write in
that vivid American, which is really their native tongue, they would
find the same amazing results flowing from literary as from political
freedom. As it is, the best and freshest things in American litera-
ture are those compositions in real American which, under the
guise of dialogue or humor, have found their way into the literature
of the United States. Humor has always been the first defence
against tyranny. WTio would not prefer David Harum to the
vapidities of Washington Irving? Some day American literature
will take courage to be itself." Chronicle and Book Reviews
complete the issue.
I^ecent £vent6«
The Editor of The Cathouc World wishes to state that none
of the contributed articles or departments, signed or unsigned, of
the magazine, with the exception of " With Our Readers/' voices
the editorial opinion of the magazine. And nb article or department
voices officially the opinion of the Paulist Community.
No decisive event has happened in any one
Progress of the War. of the many regions in which the War is
being waged. Since the advance in the
neighborhood of Soissons some months ago, the Germans have
accomplished nothing more than the holding of the lines which they
occupied last September, and even this has not been done in its
entirety; for at Neuve Chapelle the British have made a consider-
able advance, while the French have made some little progress in
one or two districts farther east. The great offensive movement
on the part of the Germans has so far not been attempted, and that
of the Allies, on the other hand, is being delayed for various reasons.
Among these seems to be the lack of ammunition. Lord Kitchener,
it is said, places his main confidence in the use of artillery in order
to beat down the resistance of the enemy with the least cost of life.
Twelve million shells a month is the demand of the British War
Office — ^a demand which exceeds the present capacity of the manu-
facturers. Hence the war of attrition which has been carried on
since last September may last for some little time longer. The
French artillery — ^the "seventy-fives," as they are called — ^has es-
tablished a complete domination over that of the Germans, the
forty-two centimetre howitzer, in which the latter had placed so
much confidence as the decisive factor of the war, having proved to
be too immobile to be useful. The British artillery also, as was
shown at Neuve Chapelle, has gained an ascendancy over that of
the Germans — has outdone in " f rightfulness " that of the Germans,
as their prisoners complain. This superiority gives to the AlKes.
great hopes of success when the time comes for their taking the
offensive.
On the Eastern frontier the Austro-German Alliance has suf-
fered a great loss by the fall of the fortress of Przemysl, after a
siege lasting nearly four months. It was so strong that the Gcr-
igiS.] RECENT EVENTS 265
mans expected that it would hold out indefinitely, especially as it
was defended by the huge Austrian howitzers which have been so
marked a feature of the present war. Although one of the strong-
est fortresses in Eastern Europe, the chief gain to the Russians
resulting from its capture is the setting free of the large army which
has for so long a time been occupied by the siege. This has now
added to the strength of the forces which are attempting to enter
Hungary through the passes of the Carpathians, where at the pres-
ent time a fierce conflict is going on. The way to Cracow was also
opened, but so far there seems to have been no attempt to advance
upon that city.
The inroad into Russia over the frontier of East Prussia has
been checked, although the Germans have not yet given up the
attempt to advance into Russian territory. So far little success
has attended these efforts. In fact the Russians were able to enter
East Prussia yet once more, and to seize the town of Memel, but
were driven out of it in a short time. No further direct attempt
has been made to reach Warsaw ; it seems, to all appearance, to be
as safe as Paris.
German attempts to reach England have proved so far entirely
futile. The Zeppelin visits have so far resulted only in destroying
property, and in killing a few civilians, including women and chil-
dren. The submarine " blockade " has indeed been irritating, but
has done so much injury to Germany among neutral nations and
so little to Great Britain, that, according to the latest reports, the
German Chancellor is urging the necessity of its abandonment. As
an example of the small success attendant upon this attempt at
** f rightfulness," the week ending March 17th may be taken — ^a
week during which eight vessels were destroyed by submarines,
the largest number up to that date. There were, however, one
thousand five hundred and eighty-nine arrivals and sailings of
overseas steamers of all nationalities to and from the United King-
dom ports during that week, from which it may be seen how infini-
tesimal is the proportion of losses that has taken place. No attempt
has been made by the German navy to make even a raid on the
English coast, since the action on the twenty-fourth of January,
in which the Blucher was sunk. Without firing a gun, the mere
dread of the British fleet is holding the German shut up in the
Kiel Canal. Its commander has so far been as prudent as the
captain of the Eitel Friedrich. In fact, there seems to be not a
single war vessel of any kind to venture upon the open sea, although
266 RECENT EVENTS [May,
a great degree of uncertainty exists about certain cruisers of which
the fate has not been ascertained — the Strassburg, the Bremen and
the Karlsruhe. When it is remembered that for ten years after the
battle of Trafalgar, in which the hostile organized navies were
destroyed, Great Britain lost, on an average, more than five hundred
vessels a year for a period of ten years, it will be seen how paretic
is the failure in this war of the " sea power " of Germany. And
if, as experts say, it would require twelve thousand submarines
effectually to blockade the United Kingdom, the inability of the
Germans, with the comparatively small resources at their command,
to accomplish this, is manifest.
The main and principle object of the Allies is, of course, to
drive the Grermans from France and Belgium. This, however, has
not prevented them from attempting as a secondary, although ex-
ceedingly important object — an attack upon Constantinople. This
involves the forcing of the Dardanelles, an enterprise which is
perhaps the most formidable operation ever undertaken in naval
warfare. Although the Turks are very far from being a first-class
power, yet, with the aid of German officers, they have been able to
place considerable obstacles in the way of the Allies. The latter
expect to have to pay a great price for any success they may
secure. They know the operation is one of the most serious kind,
and have made corresponding preparations in advance. They have
already lost by mines three battleships, and have come to the con-
clusion that without the help of land forces the attempt must fail.
These forces are said to be on the eve of landing. It will be a
glorious day for the world when the Turk is at last turned out of
Europe, although it cannot be said that he is much worse than some
Christians. While the end of the Turkish empire in Europe will be
the most permanent of the advantages of the taking of Constanti-
nople, other more immediate results, bearing more directly on
the present war, will follow. A short and easy line of communica-
tion will be opened between Russia and the rest of the world, by
means of which its surplus wheat will be made available, and, on the
other hand, the war matiriel of which Russia stands in need, can
be imported in order that armies may mobilize more rapidly. On
the Balkan States its fall may have a decisive influence, and may lead
to a permanent settlement of the eternal Balkan question.
Readers of the oldest of all histories, that of the Old Testament,
must feel a special interest in some events that have taken place
in this, the latest of all wars. Battles have been foi^ht in the neigh-
1915.1 RECENT EVENTS 267
borhood of the Crossing of the Red Sea by the Israelites, at the foot
of Mount Sinai, and in Chaldea in the neighborhood of Ur of the
Chaldees, from which Abraham was called. The British easily re-
pulsed the first attempt made by the Turks to cross the Suez Canal,
and it is doubtful whether it will be repeated ; in Chaldea they have
taken possession of two places of considerable importance, and have
successfully resisted an attempt of the Turks to drive them out;
while sailors from a French warship dispersed a body of Turks
at the foot of Mount Sinai. One of the most interesting of ques-
tions, not merely for students, but for all Christians, is the future
of Jerusalem and the Holy Land. For centuries they have been
under the domination of the Turks, who look upon Christians as
dogs. Yet, even after the Crimean War, Jerusalem was allowed
to remain under their yoke, instead of being internationalized. Pal-
estine, a land "flowing with milk and honey," has under Turkish
rule become comparatively barren, for the Turkish legislation im-
poses penalties upon every effort at development. It is to be hoped
his doom has come not merely in Europe, but in Asia, so far as the
Holy Land is concerned. But who is to take his place? This
is the question which will have to be settled in the near future.
By their stubborn insistence the French are
Fra&ce. gaining laurels of quite a diflferent character
from those of which history tells. The dash
and Han which in old times so often carried everything before them,
have had to give place to the gfrim monotony of trench warfare.
Along a line of four hundred miles, and for nearly eight months,
this mode of warfare has been carried on with but a small degree
of success, if measured merely by the ground gained, but if meas-
ured by the feeling of confidence of victory which is felt by each
and all, and which has been steadily growing, with results of great
value. The resistance which has been offered to the enemy has
not only increased the determination of soldiers and civilians alike
to have done with Germany, as a menace, once and for all, but
has given time to drill and organize the Isirge force which will soon
come into action.
The greatest, however, of all the changes which has taken
place is in the attitude towards religion. The churches in the cities
are thronged; the Sacraments are sought after by rich and poor
alike; oflScers kneel in public to receive absolution; any insult
offered to religion is resented. The military service rendered by
268 RECENT EVENTS [May,
the priests under the law of conscription has had the effect of raising
them in the esteem of all fellow-citizens, so that the dergy have
become once again a power in the land.
In commerce and industry France has suffered greatly, many
branches of business having been brought to a complete standstill.
Yet the stability of the national finances is remarkable. The ex-
penses of the war have been enormous, far greater than could have
been foreseen. The monthly excess of expenses over receipts for
the first five months of the war amounted to two hundred and twenty
millions, and in the first two months of this year the amount went
up to two hundred and fifty millions ; the revenue, however, is now
beginning to increase. The issue of treasury bonds has formed the
chief means of raising the large sums required by the Government
The successful issue of these bonds is due to the confidence of the
people, the small investors whose confidence in the Government has
led them to draw upon their hoardings. France so far has shown
herself able not only to raise money for her own expenses, but also
to make advances to allied and friendly States, Belgium, Servia,
Greece, and Montenegro. Temporary financial aid has also been
given to Russia, which, owing to a standstill of exports, is expe-
riencing difficulty in meeting orders given in France and England.
As time passes, more light is being thrown upon the events which
took place in the beginning of the War. Among the publications
is the Official Review of the War just issued by the French Govern-
ment. It shows how unprepared for the War was the French army,
while that of Germany was ready to the last button. The problem
of General Joffre was to stem the first great rush of the German
armies, and to hold them long enough to give France and England
time to develop their full strength. The Report explains how this
was done. It also shows that many failures took place, some of
them culpable. Of the battle of Ypres a most graphic account has
been given from the pen of the American correspondent of the
New York Tribune, an account which shows how near breaking
through to Calais were the Germans. The battle lasted ten days —
the odds were one hundred and twenty thousand Britishers against
six hundred thousand Germans.
So strict a control is kept by the German
Germany. Government over the expression of opinion,
that it is almost impossible to learn what is
really going on in the minds of the people. Only those are allowed
I9IS.] RECENT EVENTS 269
to speak that are in favor of the Government. But even among
these a difference in tone may be discerned. The redoubtable Gen-
eral von Bemhardi, in his work Germany and the Next War, ex-
pounded to an astonished world the ideas of the governing class in
Prussia. In this work he glorified war not only as a good in itself,
but as a necessity for Germany in the pursuit of world-power.
War, he taught his fellow-countrymen in the clearest way, so far
from being an evil, was of necessary value for " the political and
moral development of mankind ;" it was their " right " and their
" duty " to make war; the peace movement he described as poison-
ous, dear only to theorists and fanatics. This country he sneered
at for championing it, our motive being the desire to devote our
undisturbed attention to money-making; attempts to abolish war
were, in his opinion, immoral and unworthy of humanity; in par-
ticular, " France must be so completely crushed that she can never
get in our way again;" the idea of Belgium being allowed to be
permanently neutnd he threw ridicule upon; while of Germany it
was the duty deliberately to destroy the balance of power in Europe
in order to set up a system of States under her leadership. Eight
months of warfare have had a chastening effect upon the General.
In flagrant contradiction of fully established facts known to the
merest tyro in the study of recent history, he now maintains that
the policy of Prussia — ^the country which three times already within
living memory has made war in Europe — ^against Denmark in 1864;
against Austria in 1866, and against France in 1870 (to say nothing
of the present war) — has been always just, pacific, eminently fair
to the weaker peoples. The General has learned to distinguish:
the world-power which has been the avowed aim of Germany does
not mean world-dominion. However, this is not the place to enter
upon a refutation of the General's statements — of his discovery,
for example, that the whole world is under the yoke of Great
Britain. The thing worthy of note is that his tone now is one
of apology for the war, not a glorification of it
Nor is he a solitary example of this change. An Austrian
writer has had the courage to do justice to Great Britain's efforts
to prevent the present war. In leading German papers a cautious
tone is being shown. "Not for a moment," says Paul Michaelis,
in the Berliner Tageblatt, " must the German people deceive them-
selves as to the fact that great tasks and heavy labors lie before us,
if the war on many fronts is to be brought to a victorious end."
The only one of the leading Socialists who has been true to his ante-
^70 RECENT EVENTS [May,
bellum professions, Dr. Karl Liebknecht, has from the first de-
nounced the war as one waged for the ideal of despotism, and against
the ideal of freedom ; as a war of annexation ; as a war deliberately
planned and forced on by the ruling classes; and as begun and
carried on in the violation of international rights and the recog-
nized laws of war. By his outspokenness he has earned the title of
" the bravest man in Europe." This very title, however, shows how
great is his isolation, how few of his fellow-countrymen arc at
present on his side ; so f ewj indeed, that there is little hope for the
immediate future. General von Bemhardi's description of the state
of mind of the Germans still holds true: "The German nation
is absolutely determined to carry through to a victorious con-
clusion the struggle into which it has been forced In this
spirit we are all one; all strife, all partisanship, has disappeared
before the common danger; only Germans remain who are of one
will." And if in this matter the General really represents the
German people, it will be seen how small is the hope of an early
peace.
The drastic regulations by the Government of the food supplies
of the country is to be regarded rather as a precaution against the
danger of their being exhausted before the coming harvest than
as an indication of actual exhaustion. The danger of starvation
is but little, and the outcry about it was only raised to excite in this
country odium against Great Britain, and s)rmpathy with the Ger-
man people. The second war loan has been eminently successful,
and this is taken as a proof of the unbreakable financial strength of
Germany. The vast sum of one thousand eight himdred and fifty
millions was subscribed for in a very short time. Germany thus
holds the record in national loans, and German financial strength, it
is maintained, has proved itself greater than that of the Allies.
Experts, however, declare that this is a superficial view. They
point to the fact that Great Britain raised her loan at rates ranging
from two to four per cent, whereas the new loan of Germany was
at the rate of five per cent and more. Moreover, certain institutions
are authorized by the State to issue loans on the deposit of secur-
ities, the funds thus supplied being applied by way of subscription
to the loan, so that the State receives with one hand only what it
has given out or guaranteed with the other. What seems to be
an even clearer indication of the relative financial position of the
two countries, is the fact that the note circulation of Germany has
increased since the war by over three hundred per cent. For every
iQiSl RECENT EVENTS 271
five dollars in notes, Germany can only show gold for two dollars
and twenty-five cents, whereas for every five dollars in notes
England can show six dollars in gold. For this reason German
notes are at a large discount in every foreign country. Hence, in
the opinion of impartial outsiders, England's financial standing is
vastly superior to that of Germany. Reference to these details
may seem somewhat sordid, were it not probable that this is going
to be a war of exhaustion as much of financial as of human
resources, and that it is the country which has the longest purse
that will win.
The attitude of Italy appears, in every re-
Italy, spect, contemptible. There is no question of
her taking the side of Germany, but she
seems anxious to get all the advantages of a successful war without
paying anything more than a promise to maintain neutrality. So low,
however, is the level of political morality fallen that no promise
made by Austria to hand over the provinces demanded by Italy
gives to Italy any assurance that it will be kept. On the other hand,
Austria is not sure that even in case the provinces were handed
over before the war is finished, Italy would be faithful
in maintaining the promised neutrality. Honor is said to exist
even among thieves; it seems, however, no longer to exist in the
present stage of " civilization " in Europe. The attitude of Italy,
however, may be due to the want of a directing mind. There is no
statesman who commands respect ; there are only politicians waiting
upon events. Her conduct may, therefore, rather be attributed
to wealmess than to malice. The present position, so far as can be
learned, seems to be that Italy's sole concern is the keeping of a
free hand for the purpose of safeguarding what she looks upon as
her vital interests, without binding herself to the policy of neutrality.
The death of Count Witte has removed the
Russia. statesman who held office during the period
in which the most sweeping changes took
place in the whole political, financial, and economic policy of the
Empire. He was its first Prime Minister. To him is to be attrib-
uted, as the Tsar's adviser, the authorship of the famous Peterhof
Manifesto of October, 1905, the Magna Charta of Russian Consti-
tutional liberties. It was he who introduced the gold currency, and
272 RECENT EVENTS [May,
in ten years nearly doubled the Russian railway system. To him
also was due the State monopoly of vodka, which led to so great an
increase of drinking — ^an evil which he himself lived to see, and of
which he was the first to advocate the abolition, thereby showing
his willingness to admit his own mistakes. The peace with Japan
forms another of his achievements. He had, however, many ene-
mies, who brought about his downfall, and led to the last years of
his life being spent in disgrace. A contributory cause may have
been the fact that he advocated the policy of Russia's throwing her-
self into the arms of Germany, as he was permeated with German
ideas and German sympathies, and was a member of the diminishing
pro-German clique. In foreign policy he was a strenuous supporter
of the League of the Three Emperors.
Russia's treatment of the Socialists is causing some misgiving
in the minds of those who sympathize most warmly with her in the
war against Germany. A leading member of this party who re-
turned voluntarily to fight on her side, has been sent to Siberia,
and Socialist members of the Duma have also been prosecuted.
It has been widely asserted that the Jews are being harshly treated,
but this seems to lack corroboration. On the other hand, the Tsar
has been warmly welcomed by the Finns, on his visit to Helsingfors
— B, change beyond all possible expectation.
There is of course no lack of decision in the
The Balkan States, attitude of Servia and Montenegro towards
the War. The almost miraculous way in
which the former State defeated Austria-Hungary was achieved
only at the mighty cost of almost complete exhaustion, followed
by the ravages of typhus fever. So wholesome a dread of her
prowess has, however, been infused into the ranks of her foes
that no attempt has as yet been made to make the threatened third
invasion. The rest of the Balkan States seem to be paralyzed by
indecision. The strongest of them, at the present time, Rumam'a,
appears to be waiting for Russia's triumph before proceeding to
the rescue of her compatriots from Hungary's yoke. She stands,
moreover, in dread of Bulgaria whom she injured in the second of
the Balkan Wars, having failed to assist her in the first. Upon
Bulgaria no reliance can be placed. While she was the victorious
champion of the other Balkan States in the war against Turkey,
she became a traitor to their best interests at the instigation of
ipiSl RECENT EVENTS 273
Austria by bringing about the Second Balkan War. A severe, and
perhaps an unjust, penalty was imposed upon her by the Treaty of
Bukarest. This has left her in a state of chronic discontent, and
of such deep resentment to her neighbors that she is as likely as
not to fight against as for them. That Greece is upon the side of
the Allies there is no reason to doubt, but the leading statesman of
Greece — ^perhaps he may be called the leading statesman of Europe
— has been forced to resign because the King would not consent to
take actively that side.
The questions, however, which the various Balkan States have
to face are so extremely complicated that little wonder can be felt
at the hesitation which they show. In some things they have
common interests, in other respects they are opposed. All in greater
or less degree are against the Turks and their Allies, Austria-Him-
gary and Germany. On the other hand, the ground which these
States occupy has in the more or less remote past been in the
possession of the ancestors of the present Greeks, Bulgars, and
Serbs. There have been Greek, Bulgarian, and Serb Empires;
their children are desirous of reviving the glories of their fathers —
a desire which cannot but bring them into conflict with each other.
The attack which the three outsiders, Great Britain, France, and
Russia, are now making upon Constantinople adds a further com-
plication. Perhaps the desire to be on the winning side may
enter into the question.
- m .
VOL. a.— 18
With Our Readers.
WHEN one is sending invitations to a celebration and is eager to
make his list complete, it almost invariably happens that some
who ought to have been included are forgotten. When we were com-
piling the list of noted contributors to The Catholic World during its
fifty years of publication, we had the uncomfortable feeling that, in
spite of our best efforts, some very worthy ones would be omitted. We
heard complaining voices and read indignant letters.
It must be remembered that for many years articles in The Catho-
lic World were unsigned, and nothing like a complete or reliable record
exists of their authors. From innumerable sources we had to try to
reconstruct the literary history of the magazine. To the authorship
of many articles we could find no clue. Evidently they were of the
heroic kind " who did their deed and scorned to blot it with a name."
We are grateful, therefore, to all who have aided us by sending
data, and we request our readers to give us any information in their
possession concerning early contributors. The omission of some names
is entirely our own fault, due to forgetfulness and oversight.
Among those whQ should have been included in the original list,
and were not, we wish to mention : Thomas W. Allies*, eminent convert
and author ; Francis Thompson, the poet whose name needs no eulogy
to-day; and with him we may rightly couple another illustrious poet,
Rev. John B. Tabb; the Rev. Henry E. O'KeefFe, C.S.P., one-time
assistant-editor of The Catholic World ; Rev. Hugh T. Henry, poet
and scholar ; Mrs. Elizabeth G. Martin, whose chief work was that of
reviewer; Eleanor C. Donnelly; Joseph I. C. Clark; Caroline D.
Swan; Charles Hanson Towne; Rev. Edward F. Garesche, at present
editor of The Queen's Work; Dr. E. J. Dillon, the writer for many
years past of " Foreign Affairs " in the Contemporary Review; and
Mary P. Thompson, of whom a reader writes, " she was one of the
most important and efficient aids of Father Hecker. She was convert,
scholar, traveler, linguist and translator, and a constant contributor.
The Mary P. Thompson Memorial Room at Durham, N. H., would
prove my assertion."
We also omitted the name of Rev. Edward F. Curran, of whose
critique on Joseph Conrad, the first lengthy one to appear in America,
the novelist himself wrote: " It is certainly one that has touched me
deeply, not only by the generosity of its expression, but by the evident
comprehension of the writer, the insight and the sympathy of its judg-
ment. The analysis of my style was a sort of revelation even to
myself."
1915.1 ^JTH OUR READERS 275
THE following contribution from Dr. Maurice Francis Egan was
received too late for publication in our April issue :
American Legation, Copenhagen, March 6, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Cathouc World :
My first recollections of The Catholic World are very pleasant ones.
I was brought up on the AUantic Monthly and Harper^ s and Littel's Living Age,
with an occasional dash into the old number of Sartain's Magazine and my
mother's Godey's Ladies' Book, With the exception of some odd numbers of
the Metropolitan Magazine, I do not remember in my very young days that we
had any Catholic periodical at all.
On one Christmas morning my father gave n?e as a gift The Catholic
World, in which, I think, Dion and the Sibyls was running as a serial, and from
that day I became a warm friend of Father Keeker's magazine. My first con-
tribution was a sonnet, paraphrased from the Italian of St. Francis d'Assisi.
I was, I think, at that time still at La Salle College or studying under the
direction of the Christian Brothers, and when the sonnet appeared, improved
by suggestions from the editor — the very learned and clever John MacCarthy —
I was very much elated.
I first went, in 1881, I think, to see Father Hewit to thank him for a letter
which he had sent me from Dr. Newman, in which that most eminent of Orator-
ians spoke well of a Catholic World story of mine called Phillista. After that I
saw Father Hecker very often for consultation. He was not always quite
well, and I remember that when I sometimes went to his room to talk over
possible essays, stories, etc, he brushed all these matters aside and talked of
his favorite St. Catherine of Genoa. I recall with interest a comparison he made
between the mysticism of St Catherine of Genoa and the Quaker convert
Frederick Lucas. I remember we both joined in admiration of the work of John
Lafarge. What struck me about Father Hecker was his extreme cheerfulness.
*' When I want to go to Florida, I go over to the steam radiator," he said, " and
if I want the bracing breezes of Norway, all I have to do is to i\i near this
window that opens on the street." His room, to him, was a kingdom, but one
which confined within it wonderful unseen worlds of which he spoke freely.
Father Hewit had admirable taste in novels and liked to talk about them.
I do not remember that I continued Mr. James Hassard's *' Book Talks," but
I think the suggestion of a series of articles on current books came to me
through Mr. Lawrence Kehoe; and Father Hewit was desirous that my article
should concern itself with the lighter forms of literature, then very much
neglected by the Catholic press. I did not want to undertake the work, and
I was very busy (I contributed book notes to the North American Review,
and monthly bulletins of books (unsigned, to Harper's, with frequent reviews
for the New York Times and other publications). However, Father Hewit
persuaded me that I had a light touch, which he wanted, and Mr. Lawrence
Kehoe was quite sure that I had the power to kill any book that offended
pious ears. I very soon discovered that Mr. Kehoe regarded any book not
published by the Catholic Publication Society as offensive to pious ears. We had
our discussions on the subject; but a wittier, more honest, kind-hearted man never
lived, and he forgave me many audacious pronouncements because I had always
shown myself to be a firm friend of the Catholic Publication Society. I
remember that at the age of sixteen years, when I received my first fee of
five dollars for a page in one of Mr. Henry Petersen's publications, I invested
it at once in a series of those remarkably well-written tracts of the Paulist
Fathers to be distributed among my Protestant rdatives. I do not think the
276 WITH OUR READERS [May,
tracts were very well received; but I am quite sure that my good intentions
were not wasted I
I could tell you many things, serious and amusing, of my connection with
Fathers Hecker and Hewit and Mr. Lawrence Kehoe and The Catholic World ;
but there is no time.
Maurice FRANas Egan.
OUR readers will be pleased to read the following appreciations of
The Catholic World. Our sincere thanks are extended to all
those who have sent us their good wishes and congratulations, and we
regret that it was impossible to publish all the comments and letters
received.
New York, March 30, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Catholic World :
As one of the original subscribers to The Cathlic World, allow
me to congratulate you on the publication of your Golden Jubilee Number.
During all these years, I have looked forward each month with pleasure to the
coming of this magazine, and I can certainly say that not once have I found a dull
number. I hope that The Cathouc World will continue its prosperous career,
and increase its influence for good among the reading public.
Yours truly, W. P. O'Connor.
Little Rock, Arkansas, March 26, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Catholic World :
I am taking this means of congratulating The Catholic World on its
fifty years in a work which is more necessary to-day than when the magazine
was founded. Yours cordially in Christ,
Thomas V. Tobin.
New York, March 26, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Cathouc World :
It is a great pleasure to me to bring our youthful America into your
venerable presence, to say a word of congratulation on the Golden Jubilee of
The Catholic World.
I myself and all the other members of the staff rejoice with you on the com-
pletion of the fifty useful honorable years of your magazine. The Cathouc
World is doing a splendid work for God; you have put upon it the dear,
unmistakable impress of dignity and scholarship.
If the past is an earnest of the future, you can look forward to a diamond
jubilee, sure of the homage of a host of readers who have profited by your
apostolic labors.
With sentiments of esteem, I am. Very sincerely, etc,
R. H. Tierney, S.J.
Jersey City, New Jersey, March 29, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Catholic World :
I have just received the Jubilee issue, and may I wish you another
fifty years of success and prosperity.
Sincerely yours in Christ
Eugene S. Burke, Jr.
I9IS.] iVITH OUR READERS 277
New York, March 31, 191 5.
To THE Editor of The Cathouc World :
I want to congratulate you on the excellent Jubilee Number of The
Cathouc World which I read with great interest
I wish you and your colleagues all success in your good work. With kind
regards. Yours very truly,
Edward J. McGuire.
New York, April i, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Cathouc World :
My hearty congratulations on the Golden Jubilee of The Catholic
World. I do not know whether you realize that I am myself fifty years old this
month. You can understand then how much interested I am in this Jubilee
business.
May I say quite sincerely that I think you have made The Cathouc World
our most serious and important Catholic mouthpiece in America. It has been
finely done. The Cathouc World and The Atlantic Monthly represent the
leaven still left, that I hope will sometime leaven the whole lump of thinking
in America that so much lacks seriousness.
Once more my hearty congratulations, particularly on the Jubilee Number,
which is just fine. Yours very respectfully,
James J. Walsh, M.D.
Trinity College, Washington, D. C, April 6, 1915.
To THE Editca of The Cathouc World :
Among the thousands of congratulations that are pouring in upon you
on the occasion of your Jubilee Number of The Catholic World, may the faint
voice of a very humble follower reach you. The Notre Dame Quarterly, of
San Jos^ California, in which you have frequently shown a kindly interest,
extends through me its sincere good wishes. We pray that God may continue
to bless and prosper the noble work for Catholic literature that you are doing
so zealously and in such a splendid manner ; that you may always hold aloft your
high standard and find a thronging following. We feel that The Cathouc
World now, as at its inception, stands for what is best in Catholic thought;
it deserves the support of every cultured Catholic in America. We pray that
it may receive that support, and that it may round out its century in the
same high and noble mission Very sincerely.
Sister Anthony, S.H.
Kew Gardens, Long Island, April, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Cathouc World :
Allow me to congratulate you on your Golden Anniversary. Truly, The
Catholic World is the best magazine I have read, and I am always anxious
to get a new copy.
Wishing you continued success, I remain,
Yours respectfully,
Victoria db Silva.
Library of Trinity College, Washington, D. C, April s, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Catholic World :
It is one of my Easter joys to be the delegate of Sister Superior
278 WITH OUR READERS [May.
and the community to congratulate you upon the Golden Jubilee of The
Cathouc World, and upon the beautiful number that marks the great anni-
versary
There is nothing in our library of which I am prouder than the complete
file of The Catholic World, for Trinity is far from fifty years old, and some
of the early volumes were hard to get. I begged and bought in so many places
that now I have many duplicates. There is an assignment in Volume 96 on the
bulletin board this week: IVas Satan the Hero of Paradise Lost? The volumes
are of -great use to us in all the classes of literature and history. Sometime
you will give us a continuation of the General Index, I hope.
Our good wishes and our prayers go with you for the future, that the
work may be abundantly blessed and prospered, to uphold the Catholic cause
in its unique way. Very sincerely yours.
Sister Mary Patricia, S.N.D.
Catholic University, Brookland, D. C, March 29, 1915.
To the Editor of The Catholic W^orld :
Let me make a personal contribution to the praises pouring
in upon The World in these its golden days of recollection. In the
fall of 1895, Father Hewit, of revered memory, called my attention to Father
Bayma's articles on scholastic philosophy, published in The World when its days
were still young. The impression these articles made I could not begin to
describe; it has been too lasting and inspiring to be put in words. I wish
humbly and truthfully to say, however, that I owe a profound debt, which I here
most gratefully acknowledge, to these articles and the pages of the magazine
now celebrating its first half-century of achievement I shall never forget the
feeling of wonder that came over me when I found that the schoolmen could
speak English as fluently as Latin. Nor has the recollection of that conference
with Father Hewit grown a whit dimmer with the years.
May God continue to bless you and your work more than ever.
Cordially yours,
E. T. Shanahan.
(From The Catholic Sun, Syracuse, N. Y., April g.)
The Jubilee Number of The Catholic World is filled from cover to cover
with very interesting articles The fifty-year-old magazine is something
to be proud of, not only by those personally connected with the publication of it,
but by every Catholic who appreciates the influence of good literature.
(From The Catholic Transcript, Hartford, Conn., April 8.)
The Catholic World magazine has been in the field for a half century.
Its Golden Jubilee Number, full of interesting information, is before us. Daring
its fifty years it has done splendid work, with what pecuniary remuneration we
are not called upon to guess. It has deserved success, and we hope that it
has enjoyed success.
In the late eighties an admirer of the magazine said to the writer, '* I have
been reading some early volumes of The Catholic World, and it seems to me
that the articles in those numbers were more profound and on graver topics
than those of the present day. The writers who contributed to the magazine
in its earliest days, seemed to be men of a more serious turn of mind, who were
directly and tremendously interested in the great questions of the day."
All this was twenty-five years ago. If my informant was right, the
I9IS-] ^JTH OUR READERS 279
magazine did not end its first quarter of a century as gloriously as it had begun
it The reverse is true to-day. The Catholic World is a more creditable
publication now than it was in the ending eighties — fine as it was then. It is
a bright,^ readable, edifying, and instructive periodical. The editor evidently
knows his patrons, and gives them what appeals to their literary palate. He is
the judge, of that ; and it would be presumptuous for an outsider to undertake
to decide whether, or not, he is making the best possible use of his opportunities.
We fancy that his list of contributors is small — ^we had almost said, neces-
sarily small — but since the publication of the Catholic Encyclopedia, it would be
ignoring visible facts to say that there is only a limited number of competent
Catholic writers. The production of that monumental work has discovered us
to ourselves, and, if we suffer the great host of capable literary workers to
recede into the deep regions of oblivion, posterity, if we have a posterity, will not
hold us guiltless.
The Catholic World has its proper field, and it cultivates it admirably.
But it is not laboring with precisely the same tools nor with husbandmen
identical with those of fifty years ago. Then great questions were clamoring
for discussion. Faith was more in use. The supernatural held a broader and
more secure sway. The Bible had not been dethroned. Neglect of the future
was too common indeed, yet without threatening to be universal among the
sects outside the Catholic Church. It was easier for a Hecker, a Wiseman, a
Manning, a Hewit, a Hassard, or a Brownson to find a compelling theme than
for a Shahan, a Ward, an Elliott, a Burke, or a Zahm. In those pregnant
days subjects came up from the ground or down from the clear sky. They
thrust themselves upon the minds of the thinking men of the day, and for
them to take up their pen was as natural as for the pastor to expound the
Gospel. Many of the old contributors were fine controversialists and triumphant
apologists. . They did a noble service, and they did it fearlessly and cordially.
They were the honor as well as the safeguard of their generation.
The Catholic periodicalists of the present labor under comparatively serious
disadvantages. There is less religious discussion and more and more varied
distractions of mind. An editorial of a column's length appalls the average
reader and spells the ruin of the journal that hazards it Dr. Brownson envied
Cardinal Wiseman his public The magazine writer of the twentieth century
may well envy his predecessors of fifty years ago. Everyone now reads the daily
paper, and the daily paper touches upon every subject under the sun — it touches
them indeed, frequently tears them to rags, and passes on till no one has the
heart to take them up and subject them to new and serious treatment
The public has had its effect upon the contributor. We have no Brownson.
We have no Hecker. Could they command a hearing were they to come among
us in their former prowess and power? Perhaps not We are much inclined
to say that they could not create a public for themselves, for the religious thought
of the day is little short of bankrupt
We need perhaps a publication or two differing in scope from any now
before the public. We have the writers, but we have not the capital, nor the
courage, nor, alas! the enterprise and zeal. What we need is the Catholic
millionaire who is prepared to venture and, if needs be, lose a fortune, and a
large one, in the cause of religious journalism. Someone who has Pauline zeal
and Pauline courage must come forward, call out the talent and remunerate
it decently. In the long run, such an undertaking would command respect At
any rate it would deserve success, and success is bound to come to those who
deserve it and persevere in their meritorious course.
We are led to these reflections after going through the fine Jubilee Number
28o WITH OUR READERS [May,
of The Cathouc World. The story of its beginnings is absorlung. Both
Father Elliott's Personal Reminiscences and Dr. Rooney's Reminiscences of
Early Days are delightful and informing. The Cathouc World office of the
sixties and the seventies must have been one of the most interesting Catholic
centres in the United States. The men who gathered there were giants in their
generation, and most of them did great things for the cause of Catholic truth.
Father Keeker's services to the young writers of his day are still bearing fruit
It is to be hoped that the tradition which he inaugurated will continue in honor
as long as the magazine lasts.
The Catholic World has done a noble work, and in many respects a pioneer
work. May it prosper and discharge in ever-broadening measure the apostolic
labors which it undertakes. May its courage never fail, and may it receive all
'round recognition in keeping with its unquestioned merits.
(From The Catholic Record, London, Ont., Can., April lo,)
To many Father Elliott's article in the Jubilee (April) issue of The
Cathouc World will have something of the charm of a personal reminiscence,
and may help all to realize the large part The Catholic World has played in
Catholic intellectual life for the past fifty years. But it is not alone, nor even
chiefly intellectual activity, as such, that its spiritual-minded founder and first
editor designed The Catholic World to promote amongst Catholics. His
intention and his spirit are well interpreted by the present editor
We should like to express our appreciation of the earnestness and ability
which the present editor of The Catholic World brings to the work of realizing,
with an ever-increasing measure of success, his high ideal of a Catholic
magazine. The bare list of noted contributors would fill columns of our space.
We cannot refrain, however, from noting one or two in the number before us.
It may serve our purpose to quote from an article by the distinguished essayist,
Agnes Repplier, whose first work, by the way, appeared in The Catholic World :
" Mr. Hilaire Belloc says truthfully that Europe and its development are a
Catholic thing. The Catholic Faith was the formative soul of European civiliza-
tion. Wherever it was preserved, there the European tradition in art, law,
marriage, property, everything, was preserved also.' Therefore it is that the
Catholic reads history unconfusedly. He does not regard it from without, but
from within. 'He feels in his own nature the nature of its progress.'
A clue to the past I It is more than a clue — ^it is the key of the past which the
Church holds in her sacred keeping, and only when she unlocks the door do we
see the stately procession of the centuries, linked indissolubly one with another,
comprehensible to the clear eyes of faith, beautiful to the serene understanding
whidi comes of Christian charity."
Here we have a great truth which is already openly acknowledged by
some recent Protestant historians, and beginning to be dimly fdt by alL
Hilaire Belloc's appreciation of the War, its causes, the principles in issue,
and its progress from week to week is read throughout the world. But Hilaire
Belloc with the same masterly grasp of his subject, the same forceful lucidity of
expression, and the same clarity of reasoning, has treated subjects more impor-
tant than the War in the pages of The Cathouc World. The very words dted
by Miss Repplier appeared there a few years ago in a series of articles of
exceptional value just at this time when history is being re-written. That series
of articles the present writer has read and re-read, and intends again to read
and re-read.
There is heard at times the complaint that despite increased facilities for
1915.I fVITH OUR READERS 281
Catholic higher education and greatly increased numbers of those taking advan-
tage of those facilities, the result is somewhat disappointing. May it not be
that after graduation the Catholic student is left too often without the means to
continue the studies which, at best, can only be begun in college or convent?
We venture the suggestion that if The Catholic World were found in every
home where there is sufficient education to appreciate its worth, the ground for
the complaint would largely disappear.
Stimulating and suggestive to young and old, it is almost a necessity to
young Catholic graduates as an inspiration and stimulus to continue and complete
the education into which they have been initiated by our higher institutions
of learning.
(From The Catholic Citisen, Milwaukee, Wis., April lo.)
A delight to the ^e and the mind is the Jubilee edition of The Catholic
World. Like everything else to which the Paulists put their hands, The
Cathcmjc W<»lo is excellent and all-satisfying.
For fifty years this magazine has blazed a trail of Catholic sweetness
and light through the Black Forest of American letters. It has introduced
to American readers the best work of the foremost Catholic writers of the day
at home and abroad; it has been a loving nursing-mother to young writers —
at least three of whom, Agnes Repplier, Louise Guiney, and Katherine Br^,
now have an assured place among the leading litterateurs of the day.
The Cathouc World is second to no periodical published in this
country. May it go from strength to strength is the heartfelt wish of tlie
writer of these lines.
(From The Catholic Historical Review, Washington, D. C, April)
Fifty years is a long life for a periodical; to a review just beginning its
career, it seems patriarchal So it is with feelings of veneration that the
Catholic Historical Review salutes The Cathouc World, which, with its
March issue, completes its fiftieth year. During this half-century how many
a Catholic magazine and review The Catholic World has seen bom and die I
It remains to-day vigorous and flourishing, with every promise of longevity.
What has been the secret of its vitality? We believe it has lain in two things,
chiefly. First, in its strong living faith in the power and mission of the press,
or, to use Father Keeker's term, in the Apostolate of the Press; and second,
in its insight into the mind and temper of the American public, Catholic and
non-Catholic These gifts have inspired its editors with the enthusiasm and
courage necessary for their work; and enabled them to know what was needed
and to procure the writers capable of applying it They have nobly won for
The Catholic World its widespread reputation as an enlightened, cultivated,
entertaining and faithful champion of Catholic truth and Catholic interests.
Ad mult OS annos!
(From The Catholic Monitor, Newark, N. /., April loj
For fifty years The Catholic World has continued its mission, and always
with distinction and success
Its chief glory is that it created ** a veritable galaxy in the Catholic literary
history of the last half of the nineteenth century," for the best Catholic writers
of the day published their work in The Catholic World, and found it a choice
medium for their literary efforts.
The Cathouc World has been a mighty force in Catholic literature and
scholarship in the United States.
282 mTH OUR READERS [May,
We heartily congratulate it on this, its Golden Jubilee.
May the future be even more fruitful than the past — with a golden sun
ripening the fields for the granary of God!
(From The Detroit Free Press, April 3.)
This month The Catholic World celebrates its Golden Jubilee—fifty years
of continuous publication and constantly increasing influence and prosperity. A
very interesting review of contributors is given. This anniversary number is
an excellent one.
(From The Indiana Catholic and Record, Indianapolis, Ind., April 2.)
April, 1915, comes as a time of rejoicing for the Congregation of St Paul
the Apostle, marking as it does the Golden Jubilee of The Catholic World,
a publication owned and operated by this zealous missionary society since 1865.
This anniversary is also of tremendous interest to the entire body of the Catholic
Church in America, for there is no power more potent for good than a sturdy
Catholic press, and it may be said that The Catholic World is the comer-stone
upon which the great structure of the American Catholic press has been reared.
During these fifty years, this monthly magazine has stood as a bulwark in
defence of the Faith, and God alone knows the extent of the work it has done
in overcoming prejudice and bringing the non-Catholics of this country to a
realization of what the Church is, and what it stands for in the great scheme of
things.
It was no small task to launch a Catholic magazine in this country fifty
years ago, nor was it a small task to establish an American religious order,
with the mission of carrying the light of the True Faith into the very strongholds
of unreasonable bigotry. Father Isaac Hecker and his illustrious associates —
all converts to the Church— did both, and in spite of the fact that the Catholic
population of the country at that time was but 4,451,000, their work prospered,
and both the order and the magazine fotmded by the order are to-day among
the most flourishing institutions of which the Church in America is able to boast.
Although no textbook of American Catholic literary history has ever been
compiled, the files of The Catholic World offer a fair substitute, for almost
every Catholic writer who has attained any degree of prominence in the American
literary field has, at one time or another, contributed to The Cathouc World,
and in its pages we may trace the evolution through which many an obscure
writer has risen to the pinnacle of literary fame.
J. R. G. Hassard, John Gilmary Shea, Dr. S. A. Raborg, Agnes Rcpplier,
Dr. William J. Kerby, Dr. Edward Pace, Canon Barry, Father George Searle,
C.S.P., Dr. James J. Walsh, H. P. Russell, and others too numerous to mention,
have been prolific contributors to this publication, and by their work they have
definitely proved that it is possible not only to bring a religious periodical up to a
worthy standard of excellence, but to put it on a plane with the very best
secular productions. Broad in scope, far-reaching in endeavor, varied enough
to please every taste. The Catholic World has been able to make a strong bid
for popularity without sacrificing for a moment its fundamental right to call
itself Catholic in every sense of the word
The editor's article in the Jubilee issue gives the keynote of the
entire situation. It is that apostolicity, the knowledge that the labor
which went into the making of The Catholic World was being expended
in behalf of God and Uie truths of God, that sustained the publi-
cation and brought it from the obscurity of its humble beginning into the front
rank of the great periodicals. Someone has said that the lack of an endowed
1915] IVITH OUR READERS 283
Catholic press has retarded the development of a strong coterie of Catholic
writers. We are inclined to disagree with that statement, and to assert that this
financial lack has devdoped a coterie of Catholic writers. It may have retarded
numerical strength, but it has nourished literary excellence, for no writer is
able to attain the same results when his principal incentive is monetary reward,
as he can when he writes from principle and puts heart and soul into his work.
As an example of the truth of this opinion we again point to the files of The
Cathouc World, and ask whether the men and women represented there could
have spoken with the force, the conviction, the sincerity they there display,
had they been the mere hirelings of some secular publication?
Growth and prosperity have not dimmed the lustre of The Catholic World.
The spirit which animated its early editors continued to dwell with the incum-
bents of the editorial desk of later years. Commercialism has never entered the
door, causiiig art to fly out of the window.
(From The San Francisco Monitor, April $.)
Appropriately appearing in the blessed Easter season, the April number of
The Catholic World celebrates the Golden Jubilee of its highly successful
career.
Founded fifty years ago by the illustrious convert who established the Paulist
Order, Isaac Hecker, The Catholic World has been the highest expression of
the general apostolate of the press in the United States. There are other
periodicals which are profounder, but they are exclusively for the clergy and for
scholars. The Catholic World's appeal is to the public — to all intelligent men
or women. Catholic, Protestant, or agnostic, who seek the expression of the
Catholic point of view in life, letters, science, and art
It has been, and now is, a magazine of which Catholics may well be proud.
The support which has been given it during half a century should be continued
and largely increased. Never has the need for such a review been more pressing
and serious. The Apostolate of the Press becomes more and more a necessary,
yes, an indispensable, factor of Catholic action.
It only requires a glance at the contents list of the Jubilee Number of
The Catholic World and at the list of past contributors, to recognize the
high level of literary talent which it has maintained for all the years of its
long life; but it requires a thorough reading of its contents to realize how well
balanced and nutritious and wholesome and toothsome, so to speak, is its
literary bill-of-fare.
Let Catholics place this number in the hands of their Protestant or
agnostic friends who truthfully desire to know the Catholic point of view —
conversions will follow. And that, after all, is the one thing worth while.
Catholic authors, whether poets or professors of the prosiest prose, do not,
cannot write merely, to dazzle, startle, please, amuse, or instruct for instruction's
sake — ^no; always they seek to bring souls to Christ; always they know that
vain as the crackling of thorns under the pot are all the airs and graces of
literature, all the labor of learning, unless by these things and through these
things the souls of men are attracted to God.
This is the lofty and necessary mission of The Cath(M-ic World. The
Monitor wishes it continued and increased success, and in quoting the words
used by the editor, John J. Burke, C.S.P., in describing the object of his magazine,
wc feel we are using words which should be the motto not only of the The
Catholic World, but of all Catholic journalism :
"To draw men by the capable, intelligent expression of Catholic truth;
to make fairness and beauty of style an index of the fairness and beauty
284 fVITH OUR READERS [May,
within; to show that Catholic truth illumines, fulfills all, and leads man to
the superaatural life of Jesus Christ, was the lofty purpose of Father Hecker
when he founded The Catholic World. For fifty years his mission has endured.
May God grant us and our successors many, many years to continue it for His
glory and the glory of His Holy Church; for the welfare of souls and well-
being of our beloved country — ^America."
(From America, New York, April 3.)
To start a Catholic monthly just as the Civil War came to a close was a bold
undertaking. Money was scarce. Catholics were only one-fourth as numerous
as they are to-day ; they were not a reading people, and half-a-dozen magazines
begun by Catholics had failed. Nevertheless, Father Isaac T. Hecker, the
founder of the Paulists, had the splendid courage to issue in April, 1865, the first
number of The Catholic World, and now its fourth editor, Father John J.
Burke, who came after Father Doyle, who was Father Hewit's successor, has
brought out the six-hundredth issue of the famous periodical. From the sketches
of the magazine's history that are published in this excellent Jubilee Number,
some idea may be had of how much The Catholic World has done during the
past fifty years to promote the intellectual activity of American Catholics, and
to present attractively to unbdievers the claims of the Church. Among the
three hundred contributors of note whose names are mentioned, can be found
such valiant champions of the truth as Brownson, Shea, Hassard, Qarke, and
Miss Tincker, and it was in the pages of The Cathouc World that the literary
papers of Miss Repplier and Miss Guiney first appeared.
The Holy Father pays a well-merited tribute to our highly-valued contem-
porary, " which in fifty years of uninterrupted labor has accomplished a noble and
holy apostolate in defence of the Church and of Christian civilization," and
Cardinal Farley sends his warm congratulations to "one of the most valiant
and most efiicient defenders of Holy Church." America rejoices to echo these
praises and sincerely hopes that The Cathouc World may continue to achieve
the lofty object Father Hecker had in founding the magazine, viz.: "To draw
men by the capable, intelligent expression of Catholic truth; to make fairness
and beauty of style an index of the fairness and beauty within; to show that
Catholic truth illumines, fulfills all, and leads man to the supernatural life of
Jesus Christ"
(From The Catholic Standard and Times, Philadelphia, Pa., April 3.)
The Catholic World for April of this year is its Golden Jubilee Number.
Fifty years ago the magazine was founded by a convert. Father Isaac Hecker,
who also founded the Paulist Order, or Congregation, to give it its proper
religious designation. The Catholic World became, ere many years old, a
potent influence in Catholic defensive as well as expository literature, under the
leadership of other distinguished converts, such as tlie late Very Rev. Augustine
F. Hewit, the late Rev. Qarence D. Walworth, the late Rev. Alfred Young, and
some others. Father Hewit's services were of the kind that is simply invaluable,
for, as a Catholic theologian and philosophical writer, he had in his time no
superior, if any equal, this wonderful son of a New England Congregational
clergyman.
(From The Standard Union, Brooklyn, N, Y., March 29.)
Blessing by His Holiness, the Pope, and congratulations by His Eminence,
Cardinal Farley, rare and memorable recognition, have been honestly earned by
1915] fVITH OUR READERS 285
The Catholic World of the Paulist Fathers, which with its current number
begins its second half century The half century covered by The Cathouc
World is, it is but trite to say, the most momentous in the world's history.
To revert to the end of the American Gvil War is to go back to a time when
steam and electricity were almost unknown, the mastery of the air and of the
deep sea undreamed of, and when the advances in finer application of science
and invention, industry, medicine, and social organization, were wholly bQrond
human grasp or ambition. That through all this sea of change The World has
steadfastly held its position, and the monthly bravely and honorably defended
the Faith, is an incident by itself notable, but when contrasted with what has
happened in almost every other department of human activity, the fact is even
more creditable and significant The Cathouc World has served letters as
well as the Church by the introduction to the public of many writers of high
rank, and jn secular as in religious matters invariably cast its influence and
set its example for the real, the permanent, and the substantial, rather than for
the passing dreams of a day or an hour, and in its fidelity and stability it finds
reward for the past and promise for the future.
(From The Catholic Advance, Wichita, Kan., April ij
We extend our most sincere congrattilations to The Cathouc World of
New York, which has just published its Golden Jubilee Number. The World
has worked nobly in the interests of Catholicism during the last fifty years.
The present editor is keeping The World in the front rank of first-class publi-
cations.
(From The Ave Maria, Notre Dame, Ind., April loj
The Golden Jubilee Number of The Cathouc Wosld furnishes an occasion,
for which we have been waiting, to extend to that periodical— to the editor
and his staff and all connected with it— our warmest congratulations and heartiest
good wishes upon its fiftieth anniversary. The number itself is a notable one.
Naturally the history of the magazine is the leading feature. The record thus
presented is one of which any periodical might justly feel proud. Particularly
are the Fathers of the Congregation of St Paul to be conunended for the high
regard they have had for the importance of Catholic literature, and the many
valuable contributions they have made to it To the present editor, whose
highest praise is that he has faithfully kept the traditions of The Cathouc
World's illustrious founder. Father Isaac Hecker, while further extending its
appeal, most generous praise is due, from all ranks and avenues of Catholic
life, but from none more especially than his fraternity of the Catholic press.
The Ave Maria is proud of its fifty years friendship for The Cathouc World,
and happy to be its fellow.
(From The Catholic Sentinel, Portland, Oregon, April 8,)
From its beginning to the present The Cathouc World has hdd a foremost
place in American Catholic letters; and to the Paulist Fathers who have con-
ducted it so ably are due the congratulations of the whole Catholic body. The
Paulists, from their founder to the latest recruit, have felt a special vocation
to the apostolate of the printed word, and their excellent monthly has been but
one of many means they have developed for the spread of Christian truth.
(From The Intermountain Catholic, Salt Lake City, Utah, April joj
The April issue of The Cathouc World is its Golden Jubilee Number.
286 WITH OUR READERS [May,
Surely the congratulations of the Catholic press are in order, for during the
p^t fifty years this high-class magazine has been a champion of the truth and
a defender of the rights of the Catholic Church. Since the days of Father
Hecker, who founded it in connection with the congregation of Paulists, up to
the present time, The Catholic World has been the expression of lofty ideals
in the defence of Catholic Faith, in the fearless exposition of the evils of the day,
in the maintenance of a dignified spirit and scholarly style, which appealed to
non-Catholics as well as to Catholics. It has set the pace for literary merit
among Catholic publications. Its controversies were respected outside the pale
of the Church, for they covered debatable ground with sound logic and argu-
ment One of its missions, as is also the mission of the Paulist Congregation,
is to win over non-Catholics into the True Fold. That mission has been gloriously
carried out, and it is growing in importance and results.
The Intermountain Catholic unites with the other Catholic papers and maga-
zines in extending to The Catholic World its congratulations. *Ad multos
annos!
(From The Catholic Bulletin, St. Paul, Minn., April 17.)
The Catholic World has been loyal to the lofty purpose which animated
Father Hecker when he founded it
We congratulate The Catholic World on the well-earned position it occu-
pies in the world of journalism as the leading Catholic magazine of the country.
May the merited encomiums which are being showered upon it as it passes
the fiftieth milestone in its career, be an incentive to those in charge of it to
make still greater efforts to enhance its prestige during the years, so rich in
budding promise, that now open before it Ad multos annos!
(From The Evening Sun, New York, March 27.)
Many lamps have been lighted before the shrine of letters, but whenever
the flame has not been worthy of the shrine the reading public in its own good
time has quietly snuffed it out. Fifty years ago in the days of the Civil War
the Rev. Isaac Hecker lighted the lamp of The Catholic World, and the fact
that its flame burns more brightly to-day is full proof of the high opinion
in which it is held by its readers.
In extending our congratulations to its present editor on the appearance
of his Jubilee Number, we congratulate at the same time American letters on
the record his magazine has made.
The Catholic World should not do things by halves; it has lived for
fifty years; let it make up its mind to be one hundred.
IT is a joy to give as well as to receive. We have received much of
late, and we are made the happier by having the opportunity at
this time to extend our congratulations to our weekly contemporary,
America. On April 17th America completed its sixth year, and re-
ceived the well-deserved blessing of Pope Benedict XV. At the time
of America's birth, The Catholic World said that the need in our
country of an able Catholic weekly was a most pressing one ; and " its
heartiest wishes were extended to America for a long, prosperous and
successful life." Year after year gives length of life ; and year after
1915.1 fVITH OUR READERS 287
year has shown that America is successfully fulfilling its mission of a
strong Catholic weekly. Every question of Catholic interest is treated
in its columns ; it seeks always to stimulate intelligent interest and dis-
cussion on the part of Catholics, and, to employ a phrase popular in
modem journalism, it is very much alive. The labor of editing such a
weekly is enormous. All of its editors have been men of exceptional
zeal and self-sacrifice, and both they and their entire staff have
labored to issue a weekly that would meet with the country-wide sup-
port of Catholics. That support is well deserved ; and the real worth
of all the present discussion about the necessity of a Catholic daily may
be accurately measured by the support given to such an up-to-date
weekly as America.
THE words with which Bishop Shahan, Rector of the Catholic
University, heralds the first issue of The Catholic Historical
Review will rouse the enthusiasm of every American Catholic : " The
time has come in the development of Catholicity in the United States
when it should be represented by a publication, national in scope and
character, a publication devoted to the discussion of Catholic history
on a scale corresponding to the importance which Catholicity has
assumed in the life of the nation."
That importance is due to the work of our forefathers, and a
knowledge of their labors will the better equip us to handle the prob-
lems of the present ; and enable us to attain a still more important
leadership in the life of our country. Therefore this new Review
merits the active support not only of the clergy, but also of the edu-
cated Catholic laity.
The Review has set for itself a most important and difficult task.
Official documents and records; unofficial accounts in periodicals
of various kinds, in private letters, etc.^ etc., exist of the persons and
events notable in the history of the Church in this country. No sys-
tematic attempt has ever been made to save them from threatening
oblivion, to know where they are or what they contain, to state their
true value, to put them at the disposal of the historian. It will be
evident at once how pressing is the necessity of the work the editors
have undertaken, and also how eagerly everyone who has any data in
his charge should cooperate with them.
The names of the Board of Editors — all members of the Faculty
of the Catholic University^ — are proof sufficient that, if they receive
the necessary cooperation, their task will be carried out in a thorough
and scholarly way.
We wish success to The Catholic Historical Review, and such life
as will make it the permanent and well-informed guide to every source
of Catholic American history.
BOOKS RECEIVED.
Bbnzigxr Brothbis. New York:
The Wit and Wisdom of John Ayscough. Edited bj S. O'Neill. 50 cents.
The Youna Color Guard. By M. G. BonesteeL The Little Lady of the
Hall, By N. Ryeman. The Haldeman Children, By M. E. Manniz. The
Little Apostle on Crutches, By H. E. Delamare. The Madcap Set at St.
Anne's, By M*. J. Bninowe. Daddv Dan, By M. T. Waggaman. The Mad
Knight, By O. von Schaching. Miralda. By K. M. Johnston. 35 cents
each. A Garland for St, Joseph, By a Member of the Ursuline Com-
munity, Sligo. 75 cents. The Friar Preacher, Yesterday and To-day.
From the French by Father Hugh Pope, O.P. 75 cents net. "Like Unto a
Merchant," By M. A. Gray. $1.35 net.
Longmans, Grebn & Co., New York:
The Beginnings of the Church: The Christ the Son of God, Two volumes;
St, Peter and the First Years of Christianity: St, Paul and His Mis-
sions; The Last Years of St, Paul; St, John and the^ Close of the Apostolic
Age. By Abb6 C. Fouard. $1.25 each net.
Thb Devin-Adair Co» New York :
The King, the Kaiser and Irish Freedom. By J. K. McQuire. $1.35 net
Just Stories. By Gertrude M. O'Reilly.
P. J. Kenedy & Sons, New York:
The Official Catholic Directory. Men, Not Angels, and Other Tales Told to
Girls. By Katharine Tvnan. $x.io.
The Macmillan Co., New York:
Ruysbroeck. By Evelyn Underbill. $1.00.
Schwartz, Kirwin & Fauss, New York:
The Dream of Scipio. Edited by J. A. Kleist, S.J. 50 cents.
DuPFiELD & Co., New York:
The Curse of Castle Eagle. $1.50 net. By Katharine Tynan. The Will to
Live. By H. Bordeaux. 75 cents net
Whitehall Building, Room 334, New York:
The Mexican Revolution and the Nationalisation of the Land. By Dr. Atl.
The Emmet Press, New York:
Memoir of Thomas Addis and Robert Emmet. By T. A. Emmet, LL.D.
s vols. $10.00.
The America Press, New York:
Catholic Sociology. Pamphlet $ cents.
G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York:
James Russell Lowell as a Critic, By J. J. Reilly.
Houghton Mipflin Co., Boston:
Criticisms of Life, By Horace J. Bridges. $1.50 net. The California Padres
and their Missions, By C. F. Saunders and J. S. Chase. $2.50 net
Angel Guardian Press, Boston:
A Vision of St, Bride, and Other Poems, By Mrs. E. G. Pember.
World Peace Foundation, Boston:
America and the European War. By Norman Angel. Pamphlet
St. Joseph's Home, Manchester, N. H.:
A Few Suggestions for the Practical Nurse. Pamphlet. 15 cents.
Government Printing Oppicb, Washington, D. C. :
The Educational Museum of the St. Louis Public Schools. By C. G. Rath-
man. Education for the Home. Parts i and s. By B. R. Andrews.
Economic Needs of Farm Women. Domestic Needs of Farm Women.
Educational Needs of Farm Women. A Study of the Colleges and
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Children. By W. H. Heck. Efficiency and Preparation of Rural School
Teachers. By H. W. Foght. Present Status of the Honor System in Col-
leges and Universities. By B. T. Baldwin. Organisation of State Depart-
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H. L. KiLNER & Co., Philadelphia:
Her Heart's Desire. By H. E. Delamare. 75 cents.
Catholic Truth Society, Pittsburrfi:
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D. B. Hansen & Sons, Chicago:
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University op Wisconsin, Madison:
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Burns & Gates, London:
Aunt Sarah and the War.
Australian Catholic Truth Society, Melbourne:
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LiBRAiRiE Armand Colin, Psris :
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LiBRAiRiE E. NouRRY, Paris :
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THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
Vol. CI.
JUNE, 191 5.
No. 603.
EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS.
BY EDMUND T. SHANAHAN, S.T.D.
11.
I HINKING it strange that Urania, the Muse of the arts
and sciences, should be the only one among her sisters
nine allowed to have a say concerning the nature
and meaning of that elusive thing called human
progress, I took it into my mind one day — 3, spirit
of fairness having seized me — to call upon Qio, the Muse of history,
with a view to having her tell me, at such length as might be found
convenient, what opinion she held on this, the most vexing topic
of the times.
Progress inevitable? Try as I might, I could not see this
necessary feature in the idea; and yet in nearly every book that
discoursed upon the matter, there it was in bold type before my
very eyes — the supposition that progress is not the result of con-
scious effort, but a law and necessity of our very being. It was,
men told me, a thing as sure to come as day to follow night or as
seasons in their coursing. Winter might linger on in the lap of
spring, but a glorious summer was destined to succeed it ; science
would see to that, did we but allow sufficient time for its wonder-
working sun of promise to appear above the cold horizon. Frankly
puzzled I was, and completely at a loss to account for this strange
Copyright. 19 15.
VOL. a.— 19
The Missionary Society of St. Paul the Apostle
IN THE State op New Voek.
290 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [June,
persuasion, not being familiar as yet with the stages by which it
had been brought about ; a story I was to learn much later and to no
small degree of profit. The easiest way to quell the mind's mis-
givings in the meanwhile, it seemed to me, was to consult at once
with somebody that knew, and this idea no sooner found firm
lodgment in my spirit than oflf I set in quest of the information
desired.
I was surprised when, in answer to my summons, the mistress
of history appeared. There was nothing of the Sibyl in her ap-
pearance, nothing of the rhapsodist, either, though all the reaches
of time were in her eyes. I could but think how those eyes differed
from some I had seen, in which arrogance, pretense, and prejudice
had flashed their crossing messages before ever word was spoken.
The very calm of her features told me I had left the mad and noisy
world of theory behind and entered a region more reposeful, where
thought was master of emotion and a judicious spirit ruled. Mo-
tioning me to a chair, and falling back into the cushioned depths
of another one herself — ^with no overdrawing of things past, present,
or to come, she favored me with a long and sprightly interview,
some points of which must have escaped the net of later recollection,
so intently interested was I and absorbed in the tale she had to tell. I
had scrawled upon my card of presentation, that I came solely to hear
her views on progress — whether she thought it true to say, as do
most modems, that every change is for the better, every variation
a blessing in disguise, and novelty the soul of all improvement.
I had a dim recollection of St. Paul^ rebuking the Athenians for
spending their time " in nothing else than to tell or hear some new
thing " — too superstitious he called them, if I remember rightly,
but I kept the matter to myself, not wishing to appear in the light
of one who came with mind made up beforehand. My query bore
on the supposed identity of progress and newness; I had taken
pains to make the object of my visit clear ; and to this point all the
conversation was directed, after the usual exchange of fonnalities
had been dispatched.
" I am pleased," she began, and I thought her expression some-
what wistful, " that you should crave audience of the Muse of
history in person, to learn dispassionately, and at first hand, what
she thinks of the myriad changes the world is passing through;
an old story to which a new chapter and a highly prophetic appendix
have of late been added — ^the latter without my approval or consent.
'Acts xvii. Ji, 22,
1915] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 291
For some time past I have felt slighted — ^your visit is a pleasant
experience to the contrary — that persons of distinction should come
to consult me, not to ascertain my opinion — ^perish the thought! —
but to win me over to a defence of theirs. I could not forbear
remarking recently to a visitor of this arrogant type, that I thought
he had the proper roles inverted, his and mine ; propriety demanding,
if I mistook not, that our relations should be the other way about.
Whereat he bowed himself out of my presence, apparently much
affronted, and has since written a book about me, I suppose — such
folk invariably do— in which the story of humanity will be made
to appear as having had his private opinion in view from the very
start, though unable to give it clear expression until such time as he.
good soul! generously came forward and let history know what
it had really been about all along. L'histoire, c'est moil
Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'suii tight, and a midshipfnite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.
An all-absorbent individualism — it is a bane which many still persist
in mistaking for a benison.
"And now to your question. You have come to inquire if
progress is inevitable, and a changing world, of necessity, a world
advancing. The subject is as the vasty deep, and one is embar-
rassed to know from just what coign of vantage to grapple with it.
Suppose I recite instances haphazard as they come to mind, allowing
the facts to speak for themselves and arouse such comment in me
as seems more a part of their story than of mine. Following this
method we shall be as lookers-on who have no stake in the results.
The still waters of contemplation will enable us to see what other-
wise we should surely miss, were we looking for our own image
in the depths and saw naught else reflected.
"The Roman Empire came by way of evolution from the
Roman Republic, yet no one can fail to see the moral degeneration
represented by the later growth. Theory requires that the Empire
should have climbed a notch or two higher in goodness than the
Republic, but, as a matter of historic fact, it did not do so — thus
dealing a blow of disappointment to the meliorists, the first article in
whose creed is the superiority of the complex form over the simpler
one which precedes it. History, you will find, lends itself to no
292 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [June,
such facile canon of prejudgment ; the turns it actually takes have
to be studied, they cannot be presumed. There is no special merit
in ideas that come late into being, no special demerit in ideas
that managed to arrive early; and the same holds true of institu-
tions; we cannot set a date for the appearance of genius; time
writes no wrinkles on the brow of Aristotle, Phidias, Raphael, or
Pericles; they belong to all the years.
" Take democracy, for instance, now that we have mentioned
Pericles, son of Xanthippus, and leader of the democratic party
at Athens some twenty- four hundred years before the present social
era. Democracy did not have to wait for the nineteenth century to
reach its high noon. It once saw a sun hang high in heaven that
soon sloped slowly down the West, not to rise upon the immediate
morrow but on one far distant — such are the uneven courses of
the world ! Were one to look for an example of democracy real-
ized ; for a civil government administered by the people and for the
people, with favors to no class or rank of citizens, but equal justice
to all, he would come nearer to finding it in this early period of
Grecian statecraft than in later times.
" Shopmen, farmers, cobblers, traders, merchants, carpenters,
and smiths touched elbows with the landed gentry in the assembly,
and stood on equal footing in the discussion of national affairs.
The right of franchise was enjoyed by all freemen without restric-
tion, these forming one-fourth of a population that was three-
fourths slave — ^a circumstance that paints much of the brightness
out of a democracy that despised manual labor and was really
aristocratic in spirit. Public baths, playgrounds, municipal halls,
and many other improvements which you proudly look upon as
modern, were commonplace to these old Athenians, who knew no
higher title to earthly glory than that of 'perfect citizen;' a social
ideal which St. Paul* turned to spiritual profit four centuries later
when he called the attention of the Greeks to the higher citizenship
of the blest and the more noble household of Christian faith. So
controlling was the influence of the democratic, representative gov-
ernment which the men of that olden time established, that the few
could not impoverish the many for their own enrichment, or manip-
ulate the necessaries of life for the fattening of a private purse.
Does it not seem to you, from the two considerations thus far
invoked, that progress has a past as well as a future, and that one
should be wary of conceiving it under either aspect alone?
"Ephesians ii. 19.
1915-1 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 293
" Shall we find things any different, think you, when we look
into religion's story? Has progress been continuous there, ladder-
like, with an additional rung for each succeeding age to mount?
It is the easiest matter in the world to make the sequence and
progress of religions appear continuous. All you have to do is to
arrange the various cults on a rising scale, the crudest manifesta-
tions lowermost, the more complex forms higher up: fetishism,
animism, polytheism, totemism, henotheism, monotheism, and the
thing is done. You call in your friends — the gentle reader or the
expectant public — ^proudly pointing out to them how history has
been made upstairs in your study. But notice! If you turn your
scale upside down, monotheism will then appear as the first form
of religion, all the other forms as lapses from it, movements in a
lower direction. What is to prevent you from inverting the scale?
The supposition that the simplest is necessarily the first? This
supposition is a speculator's venture, not an historian's discovery.
You cannot prove that the assumption you employ is historically
true, and, until you accomplish that task, you have no right to
suppose that the growth of religion followed the order of simplicity
and complexity in which you arrange your ideas.
" The continuity you discover is all subjective; it 4s in your
mind and method, not in the facts themselves. You simply manu-
facture progress out of whole cloth, you do not establish the fact of
its existence at all, when, beneath these various religions, manifesta-
tions or forms of belief, you profess to see a spirit of advance,
a groping-after clearer utterance, a burrowing-towards the perfect
light of day. Mankind, you say to yourself, was all the while rising
towards the one and only God; the attempts merely fell short of
success, and proved abortive. Fustian! You are confoimding the
evolution of error with the advance of truth. Your so-called
progress is all on paper. Have what pleasure you will with your
tables of religious progress. I need not tell you, though, that
history did not ask philosophers to map out its course beforehand,
nor consult with them as to what successive directions religious
events were supposed to take ; and from the furtive appearance of
some of these recent scales of religion, I should judge that history
is on no more intimate terms with philosophers now than formerly.
" All these scales reveal a supreme confusion — the confusion
of evolution with progress, decay with growth, lapse with rise,
backsliding with advancement. The supposition underlying their
construction is that there are no two ways about man — a downward
294 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [June,
and an upward — ^but only one, the latter. This singleness of
tendency on man's part is complacently taken for granted as one
of the points which science has put beyond the reach of successful
contradiction. Darwin did not go such lengths of assertion. *We
are apt,' he says, 'to look at progress as normal, but history refutes
this;'* an admission which shows the master clearer-headed than
his disciples as to the meaning and import of the principle for
which he stood. Why, so far is this supposition of normal progress
carried that the present-day savage is described as a type of 'arrested
development' — z phrase designed to create the impression that he
never fell, but merely failed to rise. The idea of his once having
been simply and freshly human, neither savage nor civilized, as
these words ring in modern ears ; the thought that he may represent
centuries of gradual degradation, is not deemed wofthy of a mo-
ment's consideration. How could it be by men to whom history is
an up-hill road to perfection, on which there is no traffic down-
wards? That is why the development of some folk is spoken of
as 'arrested* — an admirable way of concealing the unwelcome fact
that there is regress as well as progress in history.
" Men see events not as they are, but as theory would have
them be. And finding evolution always going on — it is as incessantly
at work when individuals, nations, and religions are decaying as
when these are putting forth the blossomy tops of real advancement
— they assume that all this feverish activity is part of a single forward
movement, not realizing, apparently, that they have mistaken oppo-
sites for mates, and written the story of man's decline as if it were
the introductory chapter to his development. What a thing to have
confounded with progress : evolution ! Destroyer as well as builder ;
maker of the unjust as well as the just; shaper of the mocking
course which madmen take when reason is unseated, as of the
glories of genius itself — ^madness having its laws of development
no less than sanity ; disintegrator, disimprover, and seemingly with
as much zest these as consolidator and uplifter! All progress is
evolution, but not all evolution is progress. Sometimes they work
in double harness, and then all is well ; sometimes in single, in which
case evolution takes the bit in its teeth and runs away. The strange
thing about what we are pleased to call the stream of history is that
you may tap it close to its source or far away from its original
springs and find evolution always present, progress very rarely;
and you are as likely to discover the presence of the latter in ancient
^Is Mankind Advancing f By Mn. John Martin, p. 53.
iQiSl EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 295
or mediaeval history as in modem; more so, in fact, as consid-
erations soon to follow will indubitably serve to show.
" Before leaving this topic of early religion and its history, to
pass on to others patiently waiting their turn in the anteroom of
memory, I wish to call attention to an idea which to my mind proves
better than any other the dual tendency in mankind to rise and fall ;
I refer to the idea of causality. Early man was as familiar with the
notion as his modem descendants, though he managed it quite badly,
mistook its purport, and fell foul of its real meaning on more than
one occasion and for years unnumbered. This notion, naturally
speaking, may be said to have given rise to three things : religion,
science, and magic. You are not a tabulator, I hope, and so you
will not ask me to determine the exact order of seniority and prec-
edence between these three. That would mean to abandon history
and indulge in speculation as to which of them came first All
three seem to have come fast upon one another's heels; sometimes
I feel inclined to think they ran abreast rather than tandem, my
reason being Wolsey's: man did not throw away ambition, but
courted it — that sin by which the angels fell and all self-contem-
plators have been falling ever since. The humility of religion, the
pride of science, the ambition of magic — the latter a desire to be-
come likest God, knowing good and evil — ^would you say that these
three attitudes were slow in forming then, or that they are not com-
panion choices even nowf Do men not marvel still at their own
excellence and powers, refusing to see in life aught more than
comports with the development of these ? Do they not still prefer
their own ends and aims to God's, as did their iforbears? Icarus,
you know, flew so near the sun that his waxen wings of ambition
melted, and he left nothing but his name and the memory of his
folly to the sea into which he fell. I have lapsed into a moralizing
mood, it seems, and must bestir myself to stricter ways of speech.
The lapse is pardonable. History is so full of sameness in the midst
of difference " — ^this she said, smiling — " that the present futurists
betray a very ancient lineage, in their unwitting reversion to primi-
tive types. •
" Well, to continue my story, religion set its face stemly against
magic from the very beginning. Towards that applied false science
of lower persons and peoples who imagined themselves naturally
possessed of a superhuman power over the course of Nature and
the trend of human events — towards magic, in other words —
religion was hostile from the dawn of history ; and though worsted
296 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [June.
more than once in the combat between true supernaturalism and
false — between the worship of the divine, namely, and the worship
of the human — its spirit of opposition was never really broken.
The tiger growled when he was caged and could not spring. Re-
ligion resented the pretension of man to powers that were not his,
and it strove might and main to choke the growth of this false
science of magic in which it saw earth ambitioning heaven and
attempting an impossible exchange of roles. Independent of re-
ligion in origin — neither its cause nor its effect, as so often wrongly
alleged, but due entirely to a perversion of the scientific instinct —
magic was a foe to all advahce ; looking to human rather than divine
power for help and guidance, yet indirectly acknowledging the
superiority of religion by borrowing its ritual and travestying its
rites. Primitive modes of thought are very vital and tenacious;
they are in the back of many minds still, neither religion nor science
having wholly succeeded in dislodging them from their ancient seat.
I chanced upon a passage recently which pleased me very much,
it seemed so eminently fair and just an utterance to encounter in
times like the present when so many new magicians would have us
believe that priests created religion, the effect produced the cause —
obviously the only case on record where the cause, with a deference
truly Gallic, stood aside and bade the effect precede. Let me read
the passage, it will take but a moment : 'Sympathetic magic, which
is the germ of all magic, does not involve in itself the idea of the
supernatural, but was simply the applied science of the savage. Yet
out of the theory of causation and the methods of induction, which
under certain rare, favoring conditions, and with the help of the
religious sentiment, developed into modern science, elsewhere the
process of evolution produced " one of the most persistent delusions
that ever vexed mankind, the belief in magic." '*
" What better proof would you, that evolution and progress are
not one and the same movement? Where more clearly than here
could you see that fitness to survive is not always the condition of
survival ? This shopworn expression rings and rattles with its own
hollowness in many instances. On examination it will be found
that the 'fittest form,' whether in art, architecture, painting, poetry,
religion, or what not else, is generally the one which best suits the
taste and temper of the age — ^as shifting a thing as fashion plates,
betokening moods rather than perfection. Then, too, the age may
have no taste, or one so wretched that conformity with it lowers
^Introduction to the History of Religion. By F. B. Jevoni, p. 35.
1915] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 297
all the levels of excellence previously attained; nay, the temper
of the times may be such as to welcome a thin and tenuous philos-
ophy — SL spidery web spun out of the bosoms of the self-conceited
for the world's enmeshing — ^to follow which would mean, not to
travel on, but round. There are more things, and better, in heaven
and earth than the recent Horatios have made room for in their
philosophy, where the fitness that forms the pillar and base of
judgment is of the ephemeral, not of the eternal type.
" And tell me — this magical belief of man in his own unlimited
powers and possibilities, this Archimedean confidence in his ability
to tilt the world over with a lever, could he but find the right spot
whereon to stand — is this a primitive world-picture, or a modem
drawing? The magicians we still have with us, though their
science now is burnished unto gold with optimism, and ions take
the place of hnps and elves. The ancient magic was black, exerted
on a world with terrors peopled, terrors of the imagination which
the waving of a wand or the setting of a charm dispelled. The
modem magic is white, offering men a world all to themselves,
capable of being refashioned to their suiting; with science for its
only governor, and power — ^human power — for its uncrowned king!
And where is religion? In the thick of the fray, and at its ever-
lasting task of teaching proud humanity that the trae supernatural
is not human, but divine. The parallel is curious and instructive.
But I must hasten on, or we shall never make an end of this rambling
interview.
" A word or two next about fear, since we have just been dis-
coursing upon its larger, bullying brother — ^terror. Fear, in the
low and servile sense, has changed the current of man's thoughts
from the worship of a benign deity to the appeasement of gods
malign — ^to mention only the bitter ancient fmit it bore when men
saw the shadow of their own misdeeds overspread the heavens
and mistook it for the nature of infinity. There is a fear, though,
which is reverential and the beginning of wisdom. I have my
doubts if men will ever prosper, from its lack. It is a more potent
factor in all tme human progress than the present age, pride-blown
and fancyguided, is willing to acknowledge. But of this, later.
My present concem is to point out another parallel, and in doing so
I have no other thought in mind than to prove that, very often,
men are but returning to the primitive when they think themselves
engaged in breaking out new paths. The Reformers conceived of
the Atonement as the reconciliation of God to man; the exact
298 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [June,
reverse of the traditional Christian teaching which proclaimed it
the reconciliation of man to God. Was it an advance, think you,
this new variation of doctrine? Was it not, rather, a return to
primitive types of thought, for which religion has since paid dear
in the court of reason and conscience? There is a vast difference
in sublimity between the earlier conception of Christ's work as a
free and generous moral act of self-sacrifice in reparation for
the sins of men, and the later idea of it as a necessary outcome
of the demands of justice. A victim of love is a higher concept
than a victim of law; and to think of mercy anticipating justice,
discharging the debt of the latter from sheer prodigality, not from
necessity, is to have a far nobler, truer, more inspiring idea of
God than to think of Him as having become so estranged from
humanity that satisfaction was absolutely required before relations
could be resumed. No, the Atonement was not the cause of God's
love of man, but its effect and consequence..
" The new puts men to shame quite as often, if not more so
than the old. Is it indicative of progress, do you think, to fall
so low in the power of analysis, to become so filled with the spirit
of the age, as to declare morality custom, knowledge enlightened
self-interest, conscience the tribal voice surviving, and consciousness
the stuff that worlds and dreams are made of? All these arc later
notions, and wear the hall mark of their recency; but do they
betoken improvement? Not unless you first assume that progress
consists, not in explaining things, but in explaining them away;
which seems to me the peculiar feature of modern wisdom and
advance.
" Instances other than those mentioned come crowding in
upon me in such abundance as veritably to create an embarrassment
of choice. Let me see. Politics, religion, philosophy, theology —
we have paid a flying visit, such as it was, to these four fields.
Ah, yes, art — I have as yet not touched upon the story of the
beautiful. The best wine has been reserved for the last. The
history of art offers a rich field fo? study, and will afford occasion
for the expression of some thoughts and principles which seem to
me of paramount importance in this question of progress, the more
so as the age has consigned them to the tomb and will suffer no
trumpets blown for their reawakening. But first for a few con-
crete examples. It is well to fill the imagination with witnesses
before asking the intellect to sit in judgment on the testimony
offered.
iQiSl EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 299
" Florid art, as you know, came after simple, and there is
something about it to which that inelegant word 'chromo' not in-
appropriately applies. Being a variation on the art that is simple
it should, according to theory, be superior; but the facts all fail
to respond — they point rather to decadence than perfection. You
would not take the laurel wreaths of fame from the brows of
Raphael and Buonarroti, would you, and offer them to Carlo Dolce
as his by right? What a pack of remonstrant critics you would
soon have barking at your heels, did you venture to rearrange art's
roll of honor to suit the requirements of Darwinian biology ! That
utilitarian theory never showed to greater disadvantage than in
the history of art, and you would soon be made to feel, not only
that your all-settling 'fitness doctrine' was in flat contradiction
with the facts, but that it rested, and depended for its entire
support, on a confusion of the mere presence of evolution with that
rare and unaccustomed thing, quite other, to which we give the
name and fame of progress.
" Q>nsider the vast themes painted on the walls of churches in
the sixteenth century; their grandeur of design and simplicity of
execution; the innocent and charming or strong and simple piety
which the religious countenances all express; and then contrast
these with the works of the seventeenth century; pictures painted in
shops, afterwards framed, and hung in churches; affected, exag-
gerated, and involved compositions, conceived independently of the
vast edifices, the monotony of the walls of which they were designed
to relieve and break; no apparent bond of connection or link of
harmony in them with 'cathedrals vast and dim ;' the religious faces
lacking spirit, life, and character; sensuality and devotion comming-
ling and crossing currents in their features, until it seems as if
worldlings had come to church with more of body than of soul
about them. Here is the heterogeneous for you, and out of the
homogeneous it has come, as Spencer would say ponderously,
'through continuous integrations and differentiations;' a definition
on which Blackie countered with the remark that, done into English,
it would read: 'a change from the somehowish talkaboutable all-
alikeness to the nohowish, untalkaboutable un-all-alikeness, through
continuous somethingelsifications and sticktogetherations.' Now
let me ask you in all seriousness, biology or no biology, was the
seventeenth century an improvement on the sixteenth? and, in writ-
ing a history of art, would you dare say so? Portrait painting,
you claim, represents more trueness to life. It is a departure from
300 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [June,
the mediaeval attempt to portray power and grandeur in feudal
castle, monastery, and cathedral. Quite so. But the one takes us
out of ourselves, the other lets us stay at home. And I am not
altogether sure that staying at home is the best way to make
progress. The larger the vision, it seems to me, the prompter arc
our stirrings towards it. But I must not stop to preach. The
sands in the glass are running down.
" I think you will agree with me when I say, to expedite
matters with more dispatch, that the history of art reveals but two
decidedly original periods — the Greek and the mediaeval. Somehow
all other attempts to push these twin peaks of progress higher have
met with failure. Men still stand looking up to those on whom
they would fain look down from loftier eminences. So true is this
that none will say me nay or halt me in my musings to rebuke an
overstatement. Let me read you something from Mr. Bryce, lest
you think my views unshared, too much my own to win the minds
of others. Naturally I have a preference for historians who sec
life as it is, and leave it such, without straining at the gnats of
speculation in an effort to reduce the complex drama of history
to a false simplicity.
The forms which intellectual activity takes, the lines of
inquiry which it follows, the sorts of production it values and
enjoys, do indeed differ from age to age and do bear a relation
to the conditions of man's environment. Material progress has
affected these forms and lines. But there is no evidence that
it has done more to strengthen than to depress the intensity and
originality and creative energy of intellect itself ; nor have those
qualities shown themselves more abundant as the population of
the earth has increased. It does not seem possible, if we go
back to the earliest literature which survives to us from Western
Asia and Southeastern Europe, to say that the creative powers
of the human mind in such subjects as poetry, philosophy, and
historical narrative or portraiture, have either improved or
deteriorated. The poetry of the early Hebrews and of the early
Greeks has never been surpassed and hardly ever equalled.
Neither has the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, nor the
speeches of Demosthenes and Cicero. Geniuses like Dante,
Chaucer, and Shakespeare appear without our being able to
account for them, and for aught we know another may appear
at any moment. It is just as difficult, if we look back five
centuries, to assert either progress or decline in painting. Sculp-
ture has never again risen to so high a level as it touched in
1915] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 301
the fifth century b. c, nor within the last three centuries to
so high a level as it reached at the end of the fifteenth. But we«
can found no generalizations upon that fact. Music is the
most inscrutable of the arts, and whether there is any progress
to be expected other than that which may come from a further
improvement in instruments constituting an orchestra, I will
not attempt to conjecture, any more than I should dare to raise
controversy by inquiring whether Beethoven represents prog-
ress from Mozart, Wagner progress from Beethoven.'
" Now why, I ask, if progress be inevitable, should it tarry so
in its coming, and leave us in doubt as to whether it really intends
paying us another visit? You will admit, I think, that twenty-five
centuries — from the fifth before the coming of the Lord, to the
twentieth after — is an unconscionably long time for the inevitable
in sculpture to stand upon the order of its coming. Why have the
myriad variations ensuing in the meanwhile shown neither the
ambition nor the ability to reach more commanding summits than
those the ancient and mediaeval peoples climbed ? Is it because the
economic conditions which made such progress possible in the
Middle Ages can no longer be reproduced ? — ^the intense rivalry of
cities, the wonderful organization of labor, and the common work-
shops in which an entire population sang joyously at its toil. Or
must we probe deeper for the reason? — finding it, rather, in the
larger religious spirit and vision of the times, which gave soul to the
great communal movement, and made the economic aspect of life
appear far less commanding than it does now, when men are for
the most part immersed in the practical — ^pursuers of the things
that pay, reckoners chiefly of the convertibility of endeavor into
coin. By their fruits ye shall know them, and by their vision shall
their measure of soul be taken.
" The continuity theory of progress looks very suspect, does
it not, in view of the facts considered, and there is no need of asking
history to buffet it still further. Quantity has been mistaken for
quality, the 'more' for the 'better,' by its propounders. Increase in
the number of things known, appliances contrived, and creature-
comforts manufactured seem to them an open portal to a larger
life, yet it amounts to no more in reality than a burnishing of the
door-knobs, a shellacking of the exterior. The additions to human
knowledge and domestic ease have augmented distraction rather
than promoted concentration. A world with novelty distraught has
'James Bryccy What Is Progress f Atlantic Monthly, August, 1907, pp. 151, 15a.
302 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [June,
scattered man's thoughts instead of reassembling them; his advan-
tages are but new temptations posing in the guise of blessings.
More facts, more things, more appliances — do these mean improve-
ment in life, or merely in the conditions of living? I leave you to
your own experience and reflection for answer. And as to morality
— where is the evidence that our new-found comforts have improved
it? Would you dare say, either, that penetration of mind, with
regard to the inner secrets of the universe, had grown greater?
" Take Aristotle, for instance. With none of the present ad-
vantages at command, he clearly saw, stated, and rejected the theory
of the survival of the fittest. Native ability of mind enabled him
to see what escaped Darwin's vision, namely — that no theory of
the world's development could ever amount to an explanation of
its origin. Consider, too, his reason for rejecting 'natural selec-
tion;' it is more than twenty-five hundred years old, this reason,
but could you improve upon it, or render its freshness stale? 'All
the things of Nature originate either invariably or all but invariably,'
said the great Greek, 'but of the things of accident and chance, not
one so originates.'® The Stagirite clearly perceived that all de-
scriptions of the world's growth leave unexplained the origin of
the world that grew — which is more than can be said of many
moderns, and contains a moral that needs no drawing.
" So you see," she said rising, " how ill founded is the notion
that the past contains nothing of permanent value, and that progress
consists in getting as far away from it as we can." I took her action
for a final dismissal, but my impression was premature. "If you
will call again to-morrow," she said, " we shall thresh this matter
over afresh and find new kernels in the straw. I have yet to tell you
what I think of the nature and conditions of progress — a problem,
that arises out of the facts considered in the present interview."
And upon that promise of another meeting on the morrow I took
my leave of the mistress of history, with ideas of all kinds racing at
top speed through my mind's recesses. I had learned some things
and unlearned others, feeling doubly glad in consequence — it is so
hard a matter, in the literature of the times, to tell fact from fiction,
history from speculation, wishing from thinking.
* Philosophy and Theology. By J. H. Sterling, pp. 131-134.
OUR LADY OF THE WOODS.
BY DOBA OWEN.
[The following article is foanded upon the 1873 edition of Les Serviteurs
de Dieu. This book itself is a compilation of articles reprinted from UUnivers,
which appeared in that journal between 1840-60. They are valuable contribu-
tions to the history of the Church in our country. The present paper gives a
wonderful and edifying picture of the missionary spirit which inspired saintly
pioneers of the Middle West— Ed. C W.]
|N 1839, Monsignor de la Hailandiere, then Bishop of
Vincennes, was in France. He came to the little
town of Ruille-sur-Loire, where a congregation of
nuns was established, known as the Sisters of Provi-
dence. It was the time of retreat for these Religious,
whose twofold aim is to dedicate themselves to visiting the poor
and the education of children. The Bishop of Vincennes in America
had formed a plan for setting up this little order in his vast diocese,
and he came to ask for Sisters to found the new convent.
The modest congregation of Ruille had never dreamed of the
glory of stretching out its branches as far as North America. It
had existed, contrived to be self-supporting, marked by God's finger,
but unknown to the world, and only able to exercise charity and
good works within a very limited range. But the Sisters of Provi-
dence were not alarmed at this scheme, which called for courage.
They accepted the proposal generously, with the joy of true servants
of God, anxious to consecrate themselves to His service, and happy
to sanctify themselves for His glory. They thanked our Lord with
heartfelt gratitude for all the good He was pleased to give them to
do, and did not dwell on the difficulties and dangers they would
meet with in the imdertaking. Six Sisters were chosen to follow
the bishop the next year.
In a matter so important, one can well believe the community
of Ruille left no resource untried. They collected all their alms,
they opened all their cupboards (it did not take very long), they
sought in every direction; at last they were able to give twelve
hundred francs to the six Sisters. They had to travel six thousand
leagues from France, to form a new congregation in an unknown
land, called thither by a bishop who had himself no helper but
304 OUR LADY OF THE WOODS [Juife,
Providence. He had certainly promised to give them some land,
uncultivated as yet, but he had never concealed the fact that he
could do nothing else for them.
The Sisters did not hesitate. With the trustfulness which is
all-powerful with God, they thought only of the preparations for
their departure. It is the common story : Divine Providence never
sends away empty those who trust in His goodness and call upon
Him for help. Before our Sisters had left Ruille, a generous gift
they had not asked for, and had never expected, doubled their tiny
capital. With the blessing of their own bishop, on the sixteenth of
July, 1840, the feast of Our Lady of Carmel, they left Le Mans
to give themselves to mission work.
On board the ship, the Sisters were objects of veneration to
the English Protestant crew. Every day they retired into their
cabin to say their office, and to sing with all their hearts the praise
of God, to Whose providence they abandoned themselves com-
pletely for the success of their mission. The voyage was long.
On their arrival, after a forty days' passage, in sight of New York,
everyone on board was delighted to see land again. Only the
Superior, good Sister St. Theodore, seated on deck, and sadly looking
towards the strange country, wondered uneasily what would become
of the five Sisters entrusted to her tender care, in this unknown
land, five hundred leagues or thereabouts from the bishop who
had sent for them, and in the midst of people whose language was
strange to them. She called upon God to help her, and put herself
into the keeping of the Blessed Virgin
The providential experiences of the Sisters in New York and
Philadelphia, and the details of their journey across America, cannot
be told here. After many fatigues, they reached Vincennes, and
the bishop whose zeal had led them there. Twenty-five leagues
more would take them to the place where their foundation was to
be made. They set off. A priest went with them. They traveled
on, plunged into complete solitude; at last the priest stopped the
carriage, and announced that they had arrived. They got .out,
looked about them, and found themselves in the middle of the
forest. They expected little, but they had not been prepared for
this. They were shown some beginnings of a building : it was the
house they were to occupy. A little farther on they saw a sort
of wooden hut where a family was living. In spite of their faith,
and although they had willingly offered themselves, a little fear
awakened in their hearts when they were brought face to face with
I9IS] OUR LADY OF THE WOODS 305
such complete destitution. They asked where our Lord was, and
were led to a hut made of tree trunks laid horizontally one above
the other, in all about twelve feet long and nine across. The door,
which had no lock or bolt, resisted every effort to open it, and when
opened was equally hard to shut. On one side was a wide chimney,
through which the light shone down. In a comer, on some boards,
was a lair whose wretchedness passed imagination : it was the bed
of the priest attached to this strange church. At the other end was
a window blocked up with rags and brushwood, because of the cold,
which was just beginning. A few poor and faded hangings, ar-
ranged like curtains, surrounded and sheltered a little board, fas-
tened to the wall, and supported in front by two posts driven into
the ground. The tattered curtains were drawn aside, and in the
midst of this poverty they recognized the Master of heaven and
King of earth in all His gentleness and benignity. He rested there
beneath a little veil: no tabernacle, no lights, none of the usual
surroundings of His majesty. As soon as they had seen and adored
their Master in this utter deprivation of all things, a lifelike image
of Bethlehem, the Sisters discovered that they were only too well
treated, and were ashamed of their momentary weakness.
They were lodged with the neighboring family, who gave up
to them a little room for the dwelling place of the community, and
an attic for their dormitory. The very evening of their arrival
four postulants joined them. God blessed their work. And if the
house of the Lord is not built of stones shaped by the hand of man,
but rather of hearts which grace squares and fashions according to
its will, our Sisters had already fotmded the Convent of Our Lady
of the Woods.
The diocese of Vincennes, where they were thus Established,
extended its jurisdiction over the State of Indiana and part of
Illinois, in all about half the size of France, and in Indiana alone
there were two million five hundred thousand souls. In 1843 about
thirty priests, scattered over this enormous area, ministered to the
spiritual needs of its population. A small number indeed; but
God kindled their zeal, and His pity, which had given to every chiwch
in Europe saints as founders, granted equal graces to the infant
churches of the new coimtry.
The first Bishop of Vincennes, Monsignor Brute, who died in
1839, left memories behind him throughout his diocese which cannot
fail to touch the soul. He was a Breton, of admirable piety and
simple trust. When he was at the Rennes seminary, his friend
VOL. a.— 20
3o6 OUR LADY OF THE WOODS [June,
M. de la Gueretterie (who was revered as a saint throughout Brit-
tany, and died cure of Vitre, after having refused more than once
the burden of the episcopate), was afflicted with a tumor in his side,
for which every remedy seemed useless. M. Brute, who had prac-
tised medicine, tried again and again to give him relief : the trouble
grew worse, and the patient's sufferings became horrible. M. Brute
at last, seeing his friend could hardly drag himself about, told him
that he would pray to God for him. Mass had hardly been cele-
brated before M. de la Gueretterie, feeling better, put his hand to
his side and felt that he had no pain. He undressed ; there was no
tumor left, the whole trouble had disappeared. There was an
outcry, M. Brute was called, and was astonished at the general
surprise.
" All human help was tried in vain," said he, " but was not
there always Providence to call to our aid ? "
This simple faith never left him. Consecrated bishop in 1834,
he greeted his priests with incredible tenderness. They needed
tender support in the midst of their labors. Everyone of them
the head of a congregation, spread over a vast territory, passed his
life in overseeing it; in giving the scattered Catholics the joy of
assisting at the Holy Sacrifice; in consoling them and in teaching
them. The routine of their journeys was often interrupted by the
necessity of going to help the sick, perhaps twenty or thirty leagues
from their temporary resting-place.
Whatever the distance, the weather, the difficulty, they must
go, and they must get there. Often, during the winter nights of
that severe climate, after crossing rivers in flood, half frozen, they
lost their way, and were obliged to spend the whole night in the
woods. A shelter such as that just described, a mat to sleep on,
or, at best, a few feathers gathered into a bag, and a scanty covering ;
no warm clothing, no linen, sometimes no bread: these are the
worldly advantages which the missionaries had as the price of their
labor; but one must also reckon the blessing of God and the
ineffable joys of devotion.
In the midst of this destitution, the bishop found means to be
the most destitute of all. What he had was at his priests' disposal.
When they came to his house, each of them took what he needed :
shoes, clothes, linen. They left behind their cast off belongings,
always quite sure that some other, in a still more pitiable state,
would be pleased to find them. If no one wanted the things, the
bishop used them himself. He was small, and altered them with
1915] OUR LADY OF THE WOODS 307
his own hands to fit himself. They still keep at Vincennes, as
precious relics, some of his clothes sewn by. his pontifical hands.
In his frequent visits to them, he never, even in his last days,
when he was failing, allowed one of his priests to yield him his
wretched bed. He would make them lie down, and with a mother's
care would arrange them in bed, courteously wishing them good-
night. In such places as that described above, where the priest's
dwelling was not separated from the place of divine worship, in
spite of fatigue, he would spend the whole night in prayer before
his Divine Master. In any case, prayer was the habitual state
of his soul. Prayer exhaled constantly from his heart, like perf tmie
from the calyx of a flower. At every moment of the day and night
he lifted up his soul to God with incredible fervor, never interrupting
his devotional exercises, and only tearing himself away from his
passionate outpourings of love to God for the work of his episcopal
office, or for his chief care and interest, his one attachment to
earthly things — ^the help and comfort of his priests.
Some months before his death, on a winter night, this bishop
after God's heart was with one of his priests. The latter, seeing
he was ill, offered him his bed : the bishop refused. At last both
gave way, took the mattress from the bedstead, spread it before the
hearth, and faid themselves down on it, declaring they were in
royal comfort. According to custom, the bishop tucked in his
companion first, covering and sheltering him to the best of his
ability.
"But, monsignor," said the priest, "you have kept no bed-
clothes for yourself ; you have given them all to me."
" Oh, no," replied the holy man, with his usual sweet temper,
" look, you have only half ! "
During the night, the bishop fervently lifted up his heart to
God, and the priest listened with edification, taking care not to
interrupt, until he found the bishop was trying to cover him still
more. Throwing out his arm as if he were asleep, he put back the
coverlet on the prelate ; the latter, as careful as a mother with her
child, took great care not to awaken him. Again he put his bed-
clothes over the priest, but another movement returned them to him !
"Ah, you are not asleep," cried the bishop. And the two
friends of Jesus began to laugh with all their hearts. For in the
midst of extreme poverty and destitution, such simple souls as these
are full of joy, and the least touch is enough to make their joy over-
flow.
3o8 OUR LADY OF THE WOODS [June,
'' I did it/' said the bishop, '' because I was afraid of waking
you by getting up to stir the fire, and I was afraid you might catch
cold."
" But what about yourself, monsignor? "
" Oh, an old fellow like myself doesn't feel the cold ! *' said he.
They made up the fire ; it was about three o'clock. The bishop
would not lie in bed any longer. His prayers were long, he said,
and he meditated up to the moment of his departure.
But we must return to the Sisters whom we left in the
little attic which served as dormitory. It was so tiny,^ and the
beds filled it so completely that, to get at the last bed, one
had to creep over all the others; it was beside so well
built that they never succeeded in sheltering the beds from
the rain and snow! Thus they passed the severe winter of
1 840- 1 84 1. In July, 1 84 1, they moved into their new house, and
opened a boarding-school. The Sisters' aim was to inculcate re-
ligious ideas and habits among people who had lost them altogether.
They took children of all religious persuasions, so long as they sub-
mitted to the rules of their house. The keenness of these children
to learn the truths of the Faith, and the effects produced on them,
were great, liyely, and full of consolation.
In the new house, the dwelling of the good God had not been
forgotten. An altar covered with painted paper, ornamented with
two candlesticks brought from France, set off by two fine tapers
of tallow, which they made themselves, seemed to these good
Sisters so magnificent that they could not help admiring it with
some satisfaction. They kept their little chapel in the exquisite
cleanliness which is dear to all Religious, and which is the symbol
of the purity of their souls. But the cares at home never prevented
the second aim of their institution — visiting the poor. They visited
families, not to relieve them but to teach them. Here again they
found united the help of grace and the consolation of success. They
were received by these poor blind souls with lively joy, and that
complete confidence which is always inspired by those consecrated
to God.
The little community had been increased by another Sister
from Ruille, France. Seventeen American girls had joined as pos-
tulants. The community yielding to the demands made on it,
founded establishments at Jasper and St. Francisville. One Sister
and one novice went to each of these towns to open a school.
Their installation was a public festival, especially at Jasper.
1915] OVR LADY OF THE WOODS 309
In the midst of prosperity, a misfortune fell upon our Sisters.
God was pleased to cast down their hopes, and to put their courage
and faith to the proof. They had made a farm settlement at Our
Lady of the Woods. After cutting down trees, they had cleared the
land which the bishop had generously given them, and had sown
it. After the harvest was over, in which more than once the
Sisters, after the fatigue of the day in school, had taken their
share of hard work, fires broke out in several parts of their farm
buildings. They were timber-built; none of them could be saved.
Everything was devoiwed by the flames — grain, sheds, and farming
implements. They had incurred debts in the foundation of their
houses; the creditors were alarmed, and demanded payment or
security. The distress at the convent was extreme, but the Sisters
never ceased to bless God, and never gave up their holy project.
The whole disaster could be repaired at small cost; twenty-five or
thirty thousand francs would have been enough to save them from
ruin. Neither the Catholics of Indiana, nor their poor bishop and
his unfortunate clergy, were able to get together such a sum. In
their distress they turned to France. Sister St. Theodore crossed
the sea again, accompanied by a young American novice. Every-
where they met with the sympathy which it is impossible to refuse
to such devotion. After collecting a sum of money, they returned
to America in the winter of 1845, taking with them two new postu-
lants.
In a letter to her good friends, in France, Sister St. Theodore
thus describes their arrival in " the portion of their inheritance :"
Even if I had not known I was in Indiana, and in the diocese
of Vincennes, I should have guessed it by the extreme poverty
that surrounded me. Coming out of the brick-built church,
whose walls were absolutely bare, a Catholic lady showed me
the way to the priest's house. He was away; we opened the
door and went into a room (if one can call it a room) about
eight or nine feet square. A deal board served as table; the
good woman lifted it up, and showed me underneath it a box
which was the bed of this servant of God. Truly he might
deem his bed a grave, and his life a continual dying. Before
the church was built, he offered the adorable Sacrifice on this
same board.
The next day, I took the stage coach for Vincennes Our
Sisters there were worthy followers of the Evansville priest:
th,ey had not even a glass or a table napkin to offer me, and
310 OUR LADY OF THE WOODS [June,
their only delicacy was a piece of salt beef. Next day I had
the happiness of receiving Holy Conununion from the hands of
my Bishop and Superior. Not long after, I knelt at his feet,
receiving his fatherly blessing. Nothing would have been
lacking to my happiness if I could have been with my dear
hermit-sisters. I longed so much to see them that I took the
next steamer, which brought me in twenty-four hours to Terre
Haute; and by eight in the evening I reached Our Lady of
the Woods at last.
What can I say? After a year of separation, fear, and
suffering, I was with them again. Think what we felt! We
were too much moved to speak ; we went to kneel before Him
to Whom we owed all our happiness — near to Jesus, Who had
so lovingly watched over us, we could pour out our hearts.
The continual German and Irish emigration since 1844 h^d
swelled the population of Vincennes diocese. The houses of the
Sisters of Providence multiplied, and supported themselves in
generous poverty.
Not a letter from Indiana but told of baptisms hoped for, or
just taken place. They spoke also of Protestants they were busily
instructing; always a great joy to the Sisters. They earned the
happiness of teaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ to souls who knew
Him not, at the cost of a life of self-immolation and poverty.
Nothing is too hard for souls who have once tasted the joys of the
apostolate and of self-sacrifice. The severest privations are only
play to them; at Our Lady of the Woods they only speak with a
smile of the hardships they endure daily. One of the nuns wrote
to a friend :
Pray to the good God to inspire some devoted souls with the
wish to come back with our bishop to America. It is true
that our poor house is not attractive at first sight ; our postu-
lants try to conceal its poverty so as not to discourage those
who present themselves. Last simimer, three young girls came
the same day ; unluckily it was raining, and the house seemed
to be afloat. The school-benches acted as a bridge to intro-
duce the newcomers into the chapel, where they managed to
find a dry spot. Beds are rarities with us. So when a postu-
lant is received, the elders, in order to do her honor, hasten to
give up their bed to her, and to sleep on the floor themselves.
" In a short time," they say, " she will be so happy that
she will not mind sleeping on straw in the least : but she must
get used to everything first."
igiS'] OUR LADY OF THE WOODS 311
In the midst of their poverty, the Sisters thought of building
an asylum for orphans. They were no longer satisfied to teach in
school, and to give help to the poor children who lived in the neigh-
borhood; they were not content with the humble boarders whom
they educated, and from whom the community received a modest re-
mimeration: they desired to gather some orphans together, and
keep them in the true Faith. The Bishop of Vincennes was a warm
supporter of the plan, and told them that the means would be found.
The bishop was not mistaken in his hope. They had reckoned on
providing for the cost of fifteen children ; when the asylum opened
they had forty. A month later the number was doubled. How
did they all live? Providence, whose business it was, knows how
it was done. In order to supply their need of money, they resorted
to different means : first, prayer, then a life of poverty, and, thirdly,
the asking of alms. Innumerable were the graces granted through
this new undertaking.
Many, indeed, were their joys, but of the culminating joy of
death Divine Providence had been niggard towards the Sisters of
Our Lady of the Woods. Up to 1856 only two of the Sisters had
died, but that year was to ask of the community the greatest of
sacrifices. Mother St. Theodore, the good Superior and Foundress
of Our Lady of the Woods, had been professed for thirty-three
years, sixteen of which had been spent in the Indiana mission. The
material walls and the living members of Our Lady of the Woods
had been alike gathered together, shaped and raised by her active
and clever hands.
During her hard years as Superior, the most complicated and
dreadful illnesses attacked her frail constitution. At every moment
the Sisters of Our Lady of the Woods beheld the very existence of
their congregation imperilled by the dangers that threatened their
Mother's life. Other obstacles, too, arose in their path; but in the
midst of cares, perplexities and failures, the G)ngregation of Our
Lady of the Woods formed itself and developed day by day.
The religious life, with its renunciations, toils, joys and sweet-
nesses, is lifted above human weakness; but who can understand
the life of a Superior? It is not only the burden of her own heart
over which she has to triumph: she has also to bear the burden
of others. They must be raised up and sustained in the paths of
the supernatural life; they must be taught to relish and to practise
mortification, humiliation and self-sacrifice; taught also to love
and prefer things naturally repugnant; taught to preserve through-
312 OUR LADY OF THE WOODS [June,
out the light-heartedness, simplicity and liveliness of creatures dwell-
ing in their true element. Thus the Superior is the life, soul, and
strength of the community. Sister St. Theodore was all this at
Our Lady of the Woods.
She was truly a mother through the tenderness of her heart,
and the sublimity of her love: the sorrows, inconsistencies, and
weaknesses of each of her Sisters went to her heart, and drew out
her tenderness but never exhausted it. She was joy, comfort,
guide and support to all: she kept all acute cares to herself, and
the Divine Mercy was her only helper in difficulty.
Providence had procured a great grace for her in placing near
her a soul exactly fitted to understand her and to second her efforts.
Sister Fran^ois-Xavier had also been professed at Ruille-siw-Loire
among the Sisters of Providence. If Sister St. Theodore had little
health. Sister Fran^ois-Xavier had no health at all. Her ardent
desire to devote herself to mission work seemed to her Superiors
for a long time a mere illusion.
" You will be thrown into the sea and made into food for
fishes before the third day," they told the poor nun. She smiled,
answering that it was as good to be thrown in the sea and eaten by
fishes as to be buried in the earth and devoured by worms ! Her
ardor became so great that her Superiors thought they saw in it the
will of God. She was allowed to go; she made the long voyage
quite alone, reached the forests, and rejoined the Sisters who were
expecting her.
No one ever loved a work of piety as Sister St. Francois-
Xavier loved her poor Mission of Our Lady of the Woods. Did
that spiritual joy increase the strength of the body? Or was it
the special work of Providence? In either case the dear Sister
gained in the forests of the New World a degree of vigor quite
unknown to her before. No more ill-health, no more weakness:
henceforward her health, if not robust, sufficed at least for all the
work she had to do; and that work was considerable in quantity.
She was the mainspring of every undertaking at Our Lady of the
Woods. She was Mother St. Theodore's right hand, and helped in
all her work. As she was of wide and varied education, she
managed, all at once, or one after the other, the boarding-school
for young girls, the school for little boys, and the orphanage; and
she was novice-mistress as well.
Sister St. Fran^ois-Xavier loved her pupils, her orphans, her
boarders, and her novices, but she loved nothing on earth as well
19151 OUR LADY OF THE WOODS 313
as Mother St. Theodore. These two souls, so closely allied to each
other, who had shared the same labors, loved, prayed, suffered
tc^ether, were not to be long separated in their reward. Sister
St. FranQois-Xavier went first. She died on January 31, 1856.
Her soul, singularly attracted by God and the things of God,
moved by some mysterious power towards its Creator. New hori-
zons opened before her: she saw heaven and the heavenly host,
the Blessed Virgin, and the Eternal Father.
"How beautiful it is!" she exclaimed. "O my God, how
beautiful! How great is the joy laid up for those that love You!
So much joy, O my God! for so little, so little! O Mary, my
Mother, how beautiful you are! I see you I see God
I see God I am in God ! "
About five weeks after the death of Sister St. Frangois-Xavier,
Mother St. Theodore fell ill. She saw at once that she was soon
going to meet her well-beloved Sister, her dear daughter, whose
death had broken her heart but not her courage. During the fifty-
eight days of her last illness the good Mother's patience did not
give way. She saw death coming and did not fear it She was
calm and smiling in its grip. Her sufferings were acute, and, unlike
Sister St. Frangois-Xavier, her last agony was terrible. But the
peace in her soul was unshaken : as her daughters wept at her long
sufferings, she said :
" Ah, my poor daughters, they are short enough beside eter-
nity!"
It is easier to understand than to describe the grief of the
community of Our Lady of the Woods, struck by one such blow
after another. More than ever before, in the presence of these
two new-filled graves and empty beds, did the Sisters understand
that they were in the hand of God, and that their work stood on
no human foundation. But the Blessed Mary, first Mother of their
woods, still protected the children of her forests, and showed herself
doubly their Mother in the state of privation in which Divine Provi-
dence had placed them. Nothing was to be feared, for the future
of the work to which the two great souls now in heaven had devoted
themselves: nothing could be felt but gentle confidence. Those
who had worked so hard below would lose neither strength nor love
when they entered the home of the blessed. Now, as in their time
on earth, they would still be helpful, and would still sustain the
courage of their Sisters.
THE SAME FOREVER.
BY FLORENCE GILMORE.
OR a time the two Englishmen rode in silence. The
country was new to them and very beautiful, the
morning cool and sunshiny, their horses in splendid
condition. They had never before seen the world
so lovely — the grass so green and the streams so
clear, the sky of so tender a blue; never before. had the songs of
the birds sounded as melodious, the soft sighing of the wind as
musical, nor had life ever seemed so entrancingly sweet. Ireland's
poverty and her many sorrows were concealed by the playful
sorcery of May; the trials of their own lives — ^and what life is with-
out suffering — were all forgotten for the moment.
It was Mr. Floyd-Burton who broke the long silence. He was
the elder of the two by fifteen or sixteen years, an aristocratic-look-
ing man of forty, extremely well dressed, whose face in repose be-
trayed weariness of all things, perhaps even scorn of many, though
when he talked — and he talked far more often than he listened — ^he
appeared genial, light-hearted, quite content to take the world as he
found it and make the most of its limitations. He broke the silence
which had fallen between him and Roger Hungerford to say some-
thing jocose and commonplace about a game of billiards which they
had watched the night before, wretchedly played by men, like them-
selves guests of Mr. O'Neill at the Great House.
Mr. Hungerford replied with a decent show of interest, but
he would have preferred to remain where he was: in cloud lands
where billiards are unknown. He did not pursue the conversation,
but his mood had been shattered ; he could not recover it ; and after
a few seconds Mr. Floyd-Burton spoke again, broaching the next
subject that came to his mind.
" Miss O'Neill should always wear white," he said. " She was
beautiful last night. Didn't you think so, Roger? "
Mr. Hungerford was no longer bored. "Very beautiful!"
he agreed with such hearty emphasis that the elder man laughed,
before he continued deprecatingly, " She is a lovely girl; charming
in her way. But what a pity she was educated as she was — went to
a convent, you know, for years and years ! "
19151 THE SAME FOREVER 315
It was Mr. Hungerford's turn to laugh. " For years and
years ! '* he mimicked, making the words as long as possible. " You
talk as if she were at least a hundred years old ! *'
" One thing is certain," his friend retorted, " she should have
lived four or five hundred years ago ! "
" Heaven forbid ! " Mr. Hungerford ejaculated fervently. He
was smiling to himself.
Mr. Floyd-Burton looked at him, young, vigorous, happy, with
all of life before him to make as beautiful as he would. For the mo-
ment his face became unutterably sad, and a sigh escaped his lips; an
instant afterward he turned his horse so that they rode close together,
and could converse more easily, as he did so, asking lightly, " Did
you hear the story Miss O'Neill told last night? No, I remember;
it was before you and Chester came into the drawing-room. I did
not hear the beginning: I do not know what incident or argument
called it forth. When I joined the group she was beginning to tell
it, in a simple, matter-of-course way. You would have supposed,
Roger, it was the weather or the latest fashion of which she was
talking — and it was a most extraordinary tale! Unbelievable by
any sane man !
" It seems that centuries ago— in the thirteenth or thereabouts
— ^a certain St. Anthony of Padua created a great sensation by his
preaching; he was the man of the hour, all the rage for a time.
That isn't just the way she put it, you understand, but what it all
amounted to. And, by the way, she acknowledged that his name
was not Anthony and he was not bom in Padua. Some of the men,
Kilronan and those other Irish fellows, had often heard of him —
seemed to know almost as much about him as she did. Saints were
never one of my hobbies.
" Well, she told that one day he was preaching to a number of
unbelievers on the Sacrament of the Eucharist and had convinced
or hoodwinked most of them, when one man (born before his time,
Roger) insisted on seeing some proof of such stupendous wonders
before believing in them. The Saint was plucky, I admit; he
agreed to give it. And three days later, by arrangement, the man
took to Anthony his horse, which had not been fed in the meantime.
The Saint held the Sacrament in his hands before the animal, and
— so the story runs — the poor beast, famished though he was,
turned from some food his master offered to kneel before the bit of
Bread held by St. Anthony! "
Mr. Hungerford did not laugh as heartily as Mr. Floyd-Burton
3i6 THE SAME FOREVER [June,
had expected, and after a moment's thought asked what he con-
sidered an irrelevant question.
" And the man, Mr. Floyd-Burton, the heretic, did he join the
Church?"
" Oh, yes ! " and he shrugged his shoulders. " Miss O'Neill
implied that he could not have done otherwise unless he was willing
to be, and be accounted, a bigger fool than his horse. The idea,
Roger, of telling a story like that in a gorgeous, too-modern draw-
ing-room, to a dozen or more men — Oxford graduates, half of
them ! And in the twentieth century 1 It might do well enough in
a nursey — if the children were unusually credulous."
Mr. Hungerford said nothing for quite a minute. When at
last he spoke it was very thoughtfully, and his handsome, boyish
face was serious and earnest. Until that moment Mr. Floyd-Btu'-
ton had considered him a mere boy, merry, winsome, lovable, and as
shallow as the shallowest of his age and class. Never afterwards
could he bring hhnself to think that.
" One thing is certain," he said, " either we are right and there
is nothing in it, in religion, I mean, or these Catholics are, and it is
everything!"
"Hungerford, don't make a fool of yourself ! " Mr. Floyd-
Burton exclaimed sharply. " We all know you have lost your
heart to the girl. I, for one, don't blame you. She is charming, in
a quaint, sweet way that is unusual. But don't, dont send your
head and all your common sense after your heart ! "
Mr. Hungerford flushed scarlet. He had never been ac-
counted meek. " I can take care of myself," he said haughtily.
Again they rode in silence for some minutes, far less content-
edly than before, thougli none of the sweetness had escaped from
the morning; but coming, after a time, to a place where their road
was crossed by another, a narrower one, they drew rein simul-
taneously, not to debate which direction to take, but because the
view which suddenly opened out before them was arrestingly
beautiful. The ground on which they stood was higher than much
of the surrounding country, and they could see for miles in every
direction. To one side was a little woods, looking almost black in
its densest places; here and there were small farms, dotted with
buildings, always poor and often dilapidated, but picturesque when
seen from afar ; in the distance, just above the horizon, lay a village
with the spire of its old church dimly outlined against the blue of
the sky. Below them a tiny lake gleamed in the sunshine and sad-
IQISO THE SAME FOREVER 317
dened in the shadow of the oaks about its rim. Trees were every-
where, gay in all shades of green the young spring knew, and to
their left, not far away, a meadow was purple with violets. Nature-
lovers, both, the men gazed, enraptured, until the unexpected tinkle
of a bell, very near at hand, broke the stillness, making them start
and their horses prance.
Quickly turning their heads they saw, coming up the narrow
road, -a big, muscular fellow, unmistakably a peasant, and poor.
He carried a small bell and jangled it from time to time. Qose be-
hind him trudged an old, bent man with bowed head, placid face
and downcast eyes, who held Something clasped to his breast
Twenty feet, or more, behind them a boy, probably orginally of their
party, was crouched in the dust of the road, tickling a toad with a
straw and delighting in its discomfort. In an adjoining field two
stalwart young peasants stood with bared heads. Their eyes were
fastened on the old man; they seemed to be waiting until he had
passed before resuming their work.
" They are walking very slowly ; let us pass ahead," Mr.
Floyd-Burton proposed, referring to the men coming towards
them; and at once he and Mr. Hungerford pulled gently on their
bridles.
Neither horse moved.
Amazed, Mr. Floyd-Burton touched his horse, not lightly, with
his riding whip. She trembled and pawed the ground, but did not
advance one step. Less roughly Mr. Hungerford urged his mare.
She would not, it seemed as if she could not, stir.
The men exchanged a startled, questioning glance. Each saw
that the other was frightened, afraid of he knew not what Neither
dared* make any further effort to force his horse to pass before the
htmible little procession, but, uneasy and uncomprehending, sat mo-
tionless and watched it
The big peasant reached them and passed, unhurried. His
lips were moving as if he talked to himself, but he looked curiously
at them. The old man passed, seeing no one.
The two English gentlemen watched the pair until a sharp turn
in the road hid them from view, when Mr. Hungerford's horse,
obedient to a slight touch, went on as quietly as usual. Mr. Floyd-
Burton dug his heels into the flanks of his; she reared and dashed
forward. He drew rein beside Mr. Hungerford, who had stopped
and was waiting for the little Irish boy. The toad having escaped,
he was coming at a leisurely pace. Mr. Floyd-Burton would rather
3i8 THE SAME FOREVER [June,
not have waited, but could thhik of no objection to offer, or any
reason why they must hurry homeward.
The child looked at them, shy and half frightened, until he saw
Mr. Hungerford's face; then he smiled. Somehow, all children
loved and trusted him, and when he beckoned the little chap went
fearlessly to his side and patted his horse while they talked to-
gether.
" Tell me, Pat," Mr. Hungerford said, " who are the two men
who passed this way a minute ago— one was old, the other middle-
aged? Who are they, and where are they going? "
" My name isn't Pat," the boy objected. " It's my big brother
that's Pat. I'm Terry."
" Well, Terry, what did it mean ? One was ringing a little
bell."
The boy looked compassionately at him. He pitied such ig-
norance, until it suddenly occurred to him that Mr. Hungerford was
joking, and then he grinned broadly. " Sure, you know," he
laughed.
"Indeed, I do not," Mr. Hungerford assured him, so
seriously that the boy understood that he spoke the truth.
" Why, you see, grandma's sick. She's going to die, maybe,
and father and I, we came down for Father Delaney. He'll get her
ready for heaven." Then, lifting the ragged cap from his ill-
kempt, red hair he explained further (and his voice sank almost to
a whisper, so reverent was he), " Father Delaney 's taking our Lord
to her. That's why father rings the bell — ^to let people know Who's
passing."
"Thank you, Terry; I am glad to — to know," Mr. Hunger-
ford said, and gave him a coin which made his eyes shine.
Not one word passed between him and Mr. Floyd-Burton on
their way home. They rode fast, forgetful of the beauties about
them over which they had loitered, entranced, but a half hour be-
fore. They reached Mr. O'Neill's grounds in a surprisingly short
time, and had hardly passed through the gates when they saw a
slender, white-clad figure alone under the trees.
"Miss O'Neill!" Mr. Floyd-Burton exclaimed in a tone
which plainly implied that he would have preferred to slip un-
observed into the house.
At that moment she saw them and called brightly, " Isn't this
a lovely morning, the loveliest you ever saw? Did you have a
pleasant — " By this time horses and riders were so near that she
1915] THE SAME FOREVER 319
saw them clearly, and instantly she cut short her conventional
question to ask in quite another tone and in a manner grown sud-
denly anxious, " Why, what is the matter ? Did anything happen ?
Was there an accident?'' She had seen both men's faces were
white, and their horses spent and flecked with foam.
They dismounted at once, and as they went toward her, leading
their horses, Mr. Floyd-Burton replied quickly, " Oh, no, nothing
happened; nothing at all I" But his ashy lips gave the lie to his
words.
Miss O'Neill turned appealingly to Mr. Hungerford. " You
will tell me?"
" Truly, there is nothing to be alarmed about. Miss O'Neill,
though something— <iid happen. We shall explain presently," he
answered reassurringly.
A boy had come for the horses, and no more was said until he
was gone, when Mr. Floyd-Burton spoke fast and nervously.
** If you will excuse me, Miss O'Neill, I shall go at once to my
room. I have important letters to write. Roger can tell you —
but it was nothing at all, really nothing! "
It was palpable that his letters were but a pretext, and he wished
to evade discussion of a subject for some reason distasteful to
him. After a few words more, in lighter vein, he raised his hat
and left them, but ttuned back to say with scorn but thinly veiled,
" It is well for Roger to tell you. He will make a far better story
than I could of such slight material. He has imagination."
As soon as he was out of hearing Miss O'Neill pleaded earn-
estly, " Tell me ! Please ! I knew the moment I saw you both that
something had occurred, and had angered or — or troubled Mr.
Floyd-Burton."
"Yes, something did happen," he admitted for the second
time.
" It — was it painful, disagreeable? "
They were standing face to face, and as she put the question
she looked up into his eyes. To her surprise she saw that they
were shining with a joy greater than he would be able to put into
words.
" Painful? " he repeated. " No, no, not painful — heavenly I "
And pacing back and forth under the elms he told her all : the
conversation which had passed between Mr. Floyd-Burton and him-
self, modifying, of course, Mr. Floyd-Burton's comments on her-
self and his satirical version of the story about St. Anthony; he told
320 DROUGHT [June,
her how their horses had acted and every word of his conversation
with the boy. When he had finished they walked the length of the
avenue in silence. Miss O'Neill thought first of Mr. Floyd-Bur-
ton, sadly, she thought of him ; more hopefully, then, of the silent
man beside her. At last she looked questioningly into his face.
" And you ? " she said ; no more, but he understood.
He did not reply at once. Words never came easily to him
when it was his inmost self that struggled for expression.
" Surely," he began; paused, and tried again, speaking very softly,
'* Surely God has shown me Himself — and the way."
During half an hour longer they paced slowly up and down,
while above them birds sang gleefully, about them light breezes
played, and at their feet flowers shed their fragrance. They talked
of what happened that morning, and of other, trifling things. All
the world might have listened to every word without consciousness
of intrusion ; but both were happy in a way the deeper for its peace.
They were taking their first sip of the joy of two hearts made one
forever, one in love and one in faith.
DROUGHT.
BY CHARLES L. o'dONNELL, C.S.C.
There is no clover, and the frustrate bees.
Abroad upon the fields and down the lane.
Through all the forests of unflowered trees,
Monotonously murmuring, complain.
Murmuring monotonous, with wilding wings
That bear no blosmy burden nightly home.
For all their laboring, but idle things.
But builders of a barren honeycomb.
Thus is it now the summer of my dreams.
When falls no drop of rain or quickening dew ;
There are but sands where late were singing streams,
And dusty barenness where sweet thyme grew :
The bees of all my thoughts are idle long.
There is no honey in the hive of song.
KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION.
BY JAMES J. WALSH, M.D., PH.D., SC.D.
|N reviewing the life of Professor S. F. B. Morse
in the February Catholic World, I called attention
to the fact that his latest biographer has seen fit to
omit all reference to Professor Morse's connection
with the very serious outburst of bigotry against the
Catholic Church, centring around the Maria Monk fables, which
occurred about 1835. It seems scarcely worth while to revive the
memory of this disgraceful incident, save that we are again suf-
fering from a wave of bigotry, now much less bitter and intolerant,
but still effective in places.
One would recall rather reluctantly the story of Morse's folly
if his latest biographer did not defend him, and apparently attempt
to produce the impression that Morse was perfectly justified in his
activity against the Catholic Church. He confesses that Morse
grew more tolerant as he grew older, but that he was still bitterly
opposed to the Roman Catholic Church, and to the methods of the
Jesuits in particular. He makes Morse's bigotry a patriotic virtue
by saying that Morse, "in common with many other prominent men
of his day, was fearful lest the Church of Rome, through her
emissaries, the Jesuits, should gain political ascendancy in this coun-
try and overthrow the liberty of the people." Our non-Catholic
brethren opposed Catholics first on the ground of religion, and then
as more and more knowledge made it clear how absurd such a con-
tention was, the ground of their opposition was shifted to
politics. The blood of Catholics had been shed in the Revolution,
and Washington had told his troops how much that ought to mean ;
it had been shed in the War of 1812; it has always been shed for
a country that means as much to Catholic hearts as to non-Catholic.
But politics offered them, as it does now, a ready excuse for
bigotry.
After all it would not be too much to expect that a man of
Morse's intellectual attainments and experience would not easily
be led to make himself ridiculous by accepting unquestioningly the
most utterly absurd notions with regard to Catholics and the Catho-
lic Chiu-ch. He was the son of a Congregationalist minister. He
VOL. a.— 21
322 KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION [June,
was brought up in a society that prided itself on its education, that
considered itself highly cultured. He was a graduate of Yale
College. Surely it may be assumed that a college graduate
would have sufficient breadth of mind, and historical training to
prevent his acceptance of the most palpable absurdities. Besides,
Morse had succeeded as a painter. He had made the grand tour
in Europe — ^a journey then seldom made by an American; he had
lived for a time in Catholic countries. It might reasonably be pre-
sumed that he would have shed some of the narrowness of his
Puritan upbringing, his Congregationalist family traditions, and
the bitter Protestantism that existed at Yale in the early part of
the nineteenth century.
Jeddediah Huntington (the brother of Daniel Huntington, one
of our greatest American painters) himself a descendant of these
same old Connecticut families, and the author of a series of rather
well-known novels, including Rosemary, and a story of student life
at Yale in the forties and fifties, relates what extraordinary notions
with regard to the Catholic Church prevailed at Yale in the first
half of the nineteenth century. These good Puritans were quite
sure that the Church was the representative on earth of Antichrist,
the great official organization created by the devil out of the original
Christian Church, since Christ's promises had failed until Luther
came to fulfill them. They knew literally nothing about Chtu'ch
history ; they blindly accepted the Protestant tradition ; they would
doubtless have considered it a tempting of the Holy Ghost to give
an opportunity to a Catholic to explain some of their objections;
and as for reading a Catholic book, that was anathema marantha.
It is rather hard to understand this state of mind in educated
men, or at least in men whose professors pronounced them liberally
educated by giving them their university degree. It is not, however,
so surprising that the young men should have entertained these
opinions, seeing that they were held by their teachers. Professor
Morse settled in New York, and, with the memory of his early
family training, emphasized by the years at Yale, saw Catholicism
gradually but surely strengthening itself in New York. Catholic
immigrants were constantly arriving; Catholic churches were being
built ; there was a Catholic bishop and many Catholic priests ; and,
what was so past comprehension as to be almost incredible, there
were even some Catholic Sisters teaching and caring for orphans
and wayward girls. It was no wonder that Morse was ready to do
anything to prevent this rapid increase of the organization of the
1915.] KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION 323
infernal powers. His very ardor in the cause made him a ready
victim for any form of chicanery.
In 1836, a young woman named Maria Monk made her appear-
ance in New York City, claiming that she was an ex-nun, who, at
the peril of her life, had escaped from a convent in Montreal, and
who was now ready to reveal the abominations committed in these
convents. She told a circumstantial story.
It is surprising now to look back and see the thoroughly re-
spectable, supposedly intellectual, and eminently well-meaning indi-
viduals, clergymen and laymen, who, in our modern expressive
phrase, permitted themselves to be "taken in " by this lurid tale.
The Protestant clergy were among the most numerous victims of the
designing young woman, though this was not because of less knowl-
edge, but because their greater interest in the question stimulated
them to make public proclamation of their views. Among the
believers were lawyers, and doctors, and editors, and prominent
merchants, and politicians, besides many of the common people.
Among them was Samuel F. B. Morse, then well known only as an
American portrait painter.
Maria Monk and her male companion, realizing the gullibility
of the extreme Protestants, tried their credulity to the utmost, and
apparently convinced them of the truth of their statements. They
were welcomed everywhere, were received into select Protestant
circles and homes, in spite of the fact that they were strangers, and
that the woman in the case was making open confession of familiar-
ity with awful crimes. With hands upraised in holy horror the
New York Protestants gathered round to hear of the criminal
actions that took place only three hundred miles away, in Montreal.
They made no inquiry of Montreal ; they asked for no proof. They
accepted all Maria Monk's statements without question.
They were confirmed in the teachings of their fathers and
understood better their forefathers' bitterness. The utter impos-
sibility of the events described never seems to have occurred to
them. Their anti-Catholic training had led them to expect this
sort of thing. Usually these crimes were concealed by the diabolical
malignity, almost infinite hypocrisy, and unlimited power of the
Church in Catholic countries. But now the bars of secrecy were
down because the witness was beyond Church jurisdiction in a free
Protestant land, and at last the whole story of the awful crimes,
fostered even here on the American Continent by people who pre-
tended to be religious, was to be revealed.
324 KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION [June,
One would think that a sense of the ridiculous at least would
have warned these well-meaning Protestants of the unguarded way
that they were leaving themselves open to the arts of the impostor.
Yet, apparently, the idea of trickery never occurred to them. Con-
sidering their narrow religious upbringing and creed, it is not, per-
haps, incredible that no such suspicion should have crossed their
minds. They were only securing confirmation of what they already
knew in their hearts mu^t be so. It was this previous impression —
this prejudice, to use the familiar word — ^that was the real source
of conviction for them. And so it is still for the great majority of
non-Catholics the real basis of their opposition to the Church,
though, as a rule, they completely fail to realize it.
Maria Monk calmly proceeded to tell the New York Protestants
of two generations ago exactly what would suit their prejudices.
Her story was a reflection from the mirror of their own minds.
She was ready to state anything that she felt they wanted her to say,
and anything that they could possibly be made to believe; and
their credulity in these matters was almost unlimited. She declared
that just as soon as she was admitted to the convent in Montreal
and permitted to take the veil, she was initiated into all manner
of crimes, which, she further stated, the nuns were in the habit
of committing. Now the nuns of whom she spoke were the nursing
Sisters of the great Hotel Dieu, the general hospital in Montreal,
which was at that moment probably the best organized hospital
on the American Continent. Our general hospital — that of Belle-
vue — was at that time almost a disgrace, housed in dirty, inadequate
quarters, and with its nursing done by what were called " ten-day
women," because they had been sent to Blackwell's Island for ten
days for some form of disorderly conduct, and after being released
had been employed in the hospital.
It was against these nursing Sisters doing a work for the poor
and sick that required all the devotion of mind and body and
uprightness of character that women can possess — for the records
show that these good Sisters nursed the immigrants through many
an epidemic of typhus and cholera — that Maria Monk told her tale.
Of course. New Yorkers knew nothing of the Sisters' good work.
On the contrary, their carefully prejudiced bigotry told them that
any such work was merely a pretense, and that the chief reason for
the existence of these convents was immorality. How they drank
in Maria Monk's expression when she said : " From that moment
(when she received the veil, or religious habit) I was required
1915] KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION 325
to act like the most abandoned of beings I " She learned that all
her future associates were habitually guilty of the most heinous
and detestable crimes. These crimes were of daily occurrence, and
the chief purpose of the convent was to provide an opportunity
for more and more of them.
All the crimes of sex were included in the list, and, of course,
child murder, because that was more or less inevitably connected
with the immorality which was practised. But Maria Monk did not
hesitate to go farther than this, and tell the story of deliberate
murder practised under the most revolting circimistances. The
credulity of even such educated men as the Protestant ministers of
New York City, an ex-mayor of Brooklyn, a series of prominent
merchants, and S. F. B. Morse was quite equal to accepting these
tales with the rest. Maria Monk told in circumstantial detail,
so as to produce all possible thrills of horror, the story of the
mtu-der of a nun who, refusing to share in these vile crimes, was
seized, hurried before five priests and bishops, who sat in awful
parody of a Court of Justice, and after a mock trial was sentenced
to death. The victim was then immediately bound and gagged, tied
face upwards on a bed, mattresses being thrown over her. Then
all the five priests jumped upon the bed until they literally crushed
the poor victim to death. Her body was then unbound and buried
in quicklime in a cellar, where in a very short time all vestiges of
this alleged murder was destroyed.
Think of sensible, educated Christian men and women accept-
ing all this without a question. Think of its being the topic of
sermons in churches, commented on at religious meetings, published
broadcast in religious papers, and think of how blind the people must
have been — not, be it recalled, ignorant country villagers, but some
of the best informed people in the metropolis of America, barely two
generations ago— to accept such arrant nonsense. But we must not
forget what blinded them. It was the Protestant tradition of
calumny against the Catholic Church. That Protestant tradition
still survives. It does not now, except in country districts and
where the people are ignorant and backward, venture to ask people
to accept such stories as those of Maria Monk, but practically all of
the Protestant opposition to the Church is founded on this old Prot-
estant tradition, and the ignorance and prejudice and misrepre-
sentation that it fostered with regard to everything Catholic.
Draper, when he wrote his Conflict of Religion and Science, was
unconsciously following in the Protestant tradition. Even Presi-
326 KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION [June,
dent White as late as 1890, when he wrote his Warfare of Theology
with Science in Christendom, was following in that same tradition.
These university men were so sure that the Church was thoroughly
and benightedly wrong that it was easy for them to create reasons
for their feeling of opposition.
All of Maria Monk's horrible revelations were published as
quite serious evidence against the " Black Nuns " of Montreal in
the Protestant Vindicator — 2l well-known and widely-circulated re-
ligious ( ?) paper of that time — on October 14, 1835. Three months
later in January, 1835, the book bearing the title Maria Monk's
Awful Disclosures was published in New York with the imprint of
HoWe and Bates. In the meantime, within a week after the publi-
cation of the story, a copy of the paper reached Montreal, and was
met by immediate and unanimous contradiction from the whole of
the Protestant press of the Province. The Montreal Herald said
(October 20, 1835):
We will not disgrace our colleagues, nor disgust our readers
by copying the false, the abominably false article. Though of
a different religious persuasion from the priests and nuns, we
have had too many opportunities of witnessing their unwearied
assiduity and watchfulness and Christian charity during two
seasons of pestilence, and can bear witness to the hitherto
unimpeached and unimpeachable rectitude of their conduct, to
be in the slightest degree swayed in our opinion by a news-
paper slander. We are Protestants and glory in being so ; but
we will not so far forget the precepts of our Divine Master
as to connive at traducing the character of individuals who are
exemplary members of society, although they are of a different
religious persuasion from ourselves.
The Montreal Gazette and the Rucher Mercury for October
21, 183s, testified in the same spirit, and with a like cordiality,
to the respect, and even veneration, felt by citizens of all denomina-
tions for the character and labors of the clergy and nuns of Mon-
treal, and particularly of the Hotel Dieu, in which the infamous
murder above described was said to have taken place. These were
testimonies from people who knew. Of course they did not satisfy
the New York Protestant clergymen and their following, including
many educated Protestants, who had already taken up Maria Monk,
and were quite sure that her testimony must be true.
A physician of Montreal, well known in the city, himself a Prot-
estant and a Justice of the Peace, then swore that the Maria Monk
19151 KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION 327
who was telling these stories in New York was a prostitute, a girl of
low grade intelligence who, under the influence of a paramour who
saw the chance to make money out of the gullibility of New York
Protestants, had brought her down to the United States for that
purpose. Dr. Robertson further testified under oath that having
heard of these stories told by Maria Monk in New York, " I thought
it incumbent on me to make some inquiries concerning them, and
have ascertained where she (Maria Monk) has been residing a great
part of the time she states that she was an inmate of the nunnery."
He adds that " the accounts given of her conduct in the various
places where she really was while claiming to be in the nunnery, cor-
roborate the opinions I had before entertained of her character."
Even this testimony did not make any difference to Protestant
New Yorkers. They were quite determined in the vfew that all
these witnesses, even their own brother Protestants, were deceived
by the witcheries of Rome and the Scarlet Woman of Babylon.
A rather interesting pamphlet appeared in New York, in 1836,
with the legend on the title page : " Published by Maria Monk,"
and entitled "Interview of Maria Monk With Her Opponents, the
Authors of the Reply to Her Awful Disclosures, now in press, held
in this city on Wednesday, August I7th."^ This interview was
between the interesting Maria and a committee who had come down
from Montreal with the avowed purpose of showing that the ad-
venturess knew nothing about the places and buildings in which she
said that she had lived for years. Flagrant discrepancies were
pointed out, during the course of this interview, between her state-
ments at various times and her inability to describe details of build-
ings with which, from her story of having lived in them for years,
she ought to have been very familiar. Almost needless to say,
however, this interview had no effect on the distinguished Prot-
estant gentlemen who were present. They were convinced, beyond
*The copy of this pamphlet that I have consulted is in the New York Library,
and was presented by the library of the Young Men's Christian Association. It is
bound in with a series of anti-Catholic pamphlets that give an excellent idea of the
almost impossible and quite unreadable sort of thing that Protestants will believe
when there is question of believing anything against the Catholic Church. There are
stories of converts, most of whom only a little inquiry would have shown to have
been very questionable characters, and many of whom, indeed, had subsequently,
because, of their utterly unchristian lives, to be formally disowned by the Protestant
sects that had taken them up; and a series of pamphlets that indicate the need of
the Scriptures in Catholic countries. One is reminded of the late Professor
Briggs walking into his class-room at the General Theological Seminary in New York,
and holding up a copy of the New Testament that he had bought for a penny in
Rome, and impressing upon his students that anyone who said that the Bible was
not printed and easy and cheap to obtain in Catholic countries was telling an untruth.
328 KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION [June,
possibility of conversion, that Maria Monk's story was true, because
they were firmly persuaded that convents and nunneries were just
such hotbeds of vice as she had described. Attempts at denial
were at once to be suspected, and this committee from Montreal
was felt at once to be only a manifestation of an effort to browbeat
the poor unfortimate who had suffered so many wrongs, or perhaps
to tempt her to go back to Canada in order that her awful story
might be suppressed.
The story of the interview as published was followed by a
postscript, in which all the attempts of the priests and nuns of Mon-
treal to clear themselves from the vile calumnies of this strumpet
were set down as " highly characteristic of Jesuitism." The fact
that Protestants had joined with Catholics in Montreal in denounc-
ing the stories as meretricious slanders, utterly unworthy of credence,
was only added proof to these Protestant gentlemen of New York,
three hundred miles away, of the insidious deterioration of character
which occurred even among Protestants whenever they came for
any length of time in contact with Catholics, and particularly with
priests and nuns.
The one thing that would satisfy these indignant seekers after
truth, was that a comn^ittee of their number, accompanied by Maria
Monk, should be conducted through all the institutions that she
mentioned, in order to determine whether her story was true or not.
The fact that the pretended escaped nun would thus secure informa-
tion which she had showed that she sadly lacked before, but which
she would be able to use to good advantage in supporting her story
afterwards, never seems to have occurred to these gentlemen, nor
did they think for a moment of their proposal to intrude on quiet
convent life with a vile woman of this kind, seeking a confirmation
of her story of unspeakable vileness. Every feeling of gentleman-
liness and chivalry was extinguished by their all-consuming desire
to secure evidence to satisfy their own prejudices. The names of
the committee appointed or who had, at least, been suggested and
had evidently expressed their willingness to accompany Maria Monk
on this errand of inquisition through the Montreal convent, were
as follows: George Hall, Esq. (sometime Mayor of Brooklyn),
Samuel F. B. Morse, David Wesson, Esq., and Rev. J. J. Slocum.
(Morse was probably the most active and bitterly intolerant of the
group in connection with this case.)
In Montreal, because of the stain upon the good name of the
city, special efforts were made to get at the whole truth, and, as a
1915] KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION 329
consequence, poor Maria Monk's life story became public property.
A little pamphlet was published by Jones & Co. of Montreal in 1836,
entitled An Awful Exposure of the Atrocious Plot Formed Through
the Intervention of Maria Monk. This traces step by step, and
authenticates with eighteen affidavits from her successive employers,
the places where Maria Monk was in fact residing during the years
when, according to her story, she was in the Hotel Dieu in Montreal.
Even before this was published a thorough investigation of
the whole affair, and of all the basis for Maria Monk's story, was
made by Colonel W. L. Stone, editor of the New York Commercial
Advertiser. Like all the other New York Protestants, Colonel
Stone, in spite of the fact that he was well educated, an old news-
paper man, and presimiably well informed and not over-credulous,
was as much deceived as others by Maria Monk's story. Indeed,
believing ardently in its veracity, he went up to Montreal fully
determined to get the truth of the matter, and publish it broadcast
under such circumstances as would leave no possible doubt of it.
Accompanied by the President of the Bank of Montreal and
another Protestant gentleman of the same city, they obtained per-
mission from the bishop, visited the convent, and, with Maria Monk's
story in mind, searched every possible nook and comer of it, and
every cellar and passage. They interviewed the nuns, and even
cross-questioned them, but could get absolutely nothing to confirm
in any way the story; on the contrary they secured abundant
evidence against it*
On his return Colonel Stone confronted Maria Monk, several
public interviews took place between them, and in every case she
made glaring blunders with regard to the convent and the com-
munity, and Colonel Stone was able to contradict her on the spot
from even his brief and actual experience of the scenes in question.
"In ten minutes," writes Colonel Stone, " in the presence of half a
dozen other friends, clerical and lay, was the impostor unmasked."
Further investigations showed that the only acquaintance that
poor Maria Monk had with the convent was that she had lived in a
Magdalen Asylum, an institution for the reclaiming of prostitutes
not far from the convent. Affidavits as to Maria's stay in this
institution were secured, which served to show not only her habita-
tion there for a time, but also the impossibility of bringing about
any reformation of her character.
■Sec The True History of Maria Monk, by William L. Stone, Etq., lately repub-
lished in pamphlet form by The Paulist Press, New York.
330 KEEPING UP THE PROTESTANT TRADITION [June,
We may skip some ten years to the time of the poor woman's
death. In Dolman's Register for October 20, 1849, there is this
item: "Two months ago or more the police book recorded the
arrest of the notorious but unfortunate Maria Monk, whose book
of Awful Disclosures created such excitement in the religious world
some years since. She was charged with picking the podcct of a
paramour in a den near the Five Points. She was tried, found
guilty, and sent to prison, where she lived up to Friday last when
death removed her from the scene of her sufferings and disgrace.
What a moral is here indeed ! "*
There is in the story much more than a moral for pitiful
creatures like Maria Monk. The moral is for educated Protestants
who were so blinded by prejudice that they were ready to accept
this absurdly impossible story from a woman of vile character.
I wonder if educated Protestants in the East realize that even
now this story is being republished and scattered broadcast among
the Protestants of the West and South who know nothing about
Catholics, except what they have learned from the ever-enduring
Protestant tradition ? There are actually Protestant ministers who
are still engaged in securing the diffusion of this story of Maria
Monk. It has been published widely in England for years, because
there are still a large number of Protestants who want to read this
type of book, and many Protestant ministers, not in good faith,
since they know better.
Maria Monk's story has a much more important lesson, which
is still to be learned by some. It is that apostate Catholic priests
and exrnuns or those who claim to be such (for more often they
are impostors and were never priests or nuns), are the worst
possible type of witnesses to trust. If one wishes to know some-
thing about a man or an institution, one should seek to learn about
it from his or its friends. Bitter enemies are not fair witnesses.
•Many New Yorkers remember that in the next generation Maria Monk's
daughter wrote a book in which she tried to undo the harm that had been worked
by her mother's so-called revelations. The daughter had become a Catholic, and her
volume attracted a good deal of attention, though now it is rather difficult to secure
copies of it. I must confess that I have never seen it.
MAXTRICE DE GU^RIN.
BY VIRGINIA M. CRAWFORD.
|HROUGHOUT the stormy career of the Abbe de
Lamennais, it may be remembered that some measure
of peace and serenity of soul lay within his reach
at La Chenaie, the remote country house .^mid the
woods round Dinan where he and his brother, the
Abbe Jean, had made themselves a home. Thither, after the
condemnation of the Avenir and his fruitless sojourn in Rome,
Lamennais withdrew himself, bitter and dejected, gathering round
him a few young men whom he planned to educate in the ideas
to which his own life was vowed. With him, as we know, were, '
for a space, the Abb& Gerbet and Lacordaire, while Montalembert
would visit him from time to time, and in the little group of keen
intellectual young laymen who were captivated by the brilliant and
tmbalanced genius of him who was known affectionately to the little
circle as M. Feli, were, among others, a young poet, Francois du
Breil de Marzan, and Elie de Kertanguy, who was to become by
marriage the nephew of his host. Prayer, study, and long tramps
through the beech woods filled the days in this peaceful Breton
retreat
To this elect little band there came, in December, 1832, " an
unknown youth of some twenty-two years of age, with a pale face,
black hair that was already scant on his forehead, and keen southern
eyes in which burned the light of thought, combined however with
that particular expression of gentle melancholy which proclaims,
together with some secret sorrow, the poetic spirit which accom-
panies and consoles it." The young man whose appearance made
so marked an impression on one at least of M. Feli's disciples, was
Maurice de Guerin du Cayla, the younger son of an ancient though
impoverished family of Languedoc, the brother of Eugenie, and
the author of a Journal destined to confer on him after death
an imperishable reputation. That circumstances should have
brought for a time the self-centred young poet within the radius
of the stirring personality of Lamennais, has endowed the green
notebook, filled day by day with his musings, with a religious
as well as a literary value. For in its pages we find a more vivid
332 MAURICE DE GU^RIN (June,
and intimate picture of the semi-monastic life that was led at La
Chenaie than any other member of the little coterie has preserved
for us. And we find, in addition, pages descriptive of scenery and
of the wild forces of nature as they revealed themselves, on the
rugged Breton coast, to the startled vision of the southerner, of a
beauty rarely met with in French literature.
Maurice de Guerin's early years had been pathetically devoid of
the ordinary joys of youth. A dreamy, sensitive, precocious child,
he lost his mother in early boyhood, and was sent, at the age of
twelve, to the Little Seminary of Toulouse (1822), apparently with
some vague idea of preparing him for the priesthood. Thence he
was entered at the College Stanislas, in Paris, where he remained
five long years, without once returning to the company of his
brothers and sisters at the Chateau du Cayla. If this long banish-
ment from the home circle and from the healthy joys of country
"life, developed in the boy the passion for letter writing, to which
we owe the frequent and intimate correspondence with his sister
Eugenie, five years his senior, it was undoubtedly also the immediate
cause of that habitual melancholy that overshadowed his life, and
in all probability it sowed the seeds of the disease that was to cut
short his career on the very threshold of literary success.
Before coming to La Chenaie, Maurice had spent a couple of
years in Paris, living cheaply in a single room, supporting himself
by giving lessons while reading law and trying his hand at journal-
ism. It was a life of privation and much drudgery that, to a man
of his temperament, gifted, hyper-sensitive to all beauty, and happy
only in intimate communion with nature, must have been singularly
irksome. Some of his contributions were inserted in the Avenir
previous to its suppression, and his letters to Eug^ie show how
keenly he followed the religious and political movements of his day,
and how completely he had been swept off his feet by Lamennais'
eloquence. He pom's out his enthusiasm to the elder sister in a fine
flow of language, in which, in answer evidently to her anxious
warnings, he defends the " prodigious beauty " of the Mennaisian
doctrines, and upholds " the high and divine policy which elevates,
even above the heads of kings, the law of justice visibly manifested
in the Church, and which places the rights and liberty of nations
under the providence of God" (May 20, 1 831). A first senti-
mental attachment to one of his sister's girl friends, that developed
dwing a long autumn holiday at Le Cayla, doubtless served to
render the harassing struggle for a living in Paris still more dis^
1915] MAURICE DE GU£RIN 333
tasteful By this time the publication of the Encyclical Mirari Vos
(August, 1852) had been followed by Lamennais' formal submis-
sion and his retirement to La Chenaie, and it is not surprising that
Maurice, with some half-formed aspiration towards a religious
vocation still in his mind, and with the instability of purpose that
was so serious a handicap to his career, should have suddenly formed
the resolution to offer himself as a student. The arrangements
were made through a common friend, and it would seem that
Lamennais did not know his disciple personally before his arrival
at La Chenaie, neither — in the opinion of de Guerin's admirers —
did he ever appreciate him at his true value.
Maurice himself, however, nowhere betrays any sense of dis-
appointment in his relation with the man whom he was proud to
claim as his master. His devotion to Lamennais was indeed one of
the most genuine and permanent emotions of his life, and for a time
at least brought out all that was noblest in his nature. " I am in his
hands, body and soul," he writes to one correspondent, " and I trust
so great an artist will bring forth a statue from the rough block."
In the first letters home from La Chenaie everything is painted
couleur de rose: the fatherly welcome of M. Feli, the sympathetic
companionship, the charm of the white, gabled house, standing in a
spacious garden, "an oasis in the Breton steppes," with a wide
terrace planted with lime trees and a flower-bordered path leading
to the little chapel where Mass is celebrated daily. On every side
the house was hemmed in by " woods, woods and always woods,"
and, most entrancing of all, beech woods. After a three days'
retreat Maurice feels his soul strengthened and purified, and he flings
himself with ardor into the course of studies marked out for him.
To his sister Eugenie, waiting anxiously at Le Cayla for news, he
writes (December 18, 1832) :
All this means that I have set to work, and that work here is
serious and without distractions. M. Feli has launched me into
foreign languages, beginning with Italian, and at the same time
into Catholic philosophy and the history of philosophy. I am
enchanted to learn modern languages ; they are a powerful in-
strument of science, and then their study opens up literatures,
knowledge of which doubles the power and the pleasure of
thought. Of dead languages I am only learning Greek
So here I am with a great work before mc but we have
so great a general at our head, that I feel full of confidence
and am certain of victory.
334 MAURICE DE GU&RIN [June,
Knowing as one does the tragedy that was impending, it is
impossible to read without a pang this joyous intimate picture of
what appeared to be a very ideal Christian school. Almost in his
first letter home, Maurice notes, without in any way suspecting the
ominousness of the event, that " M. Lacordaire left us two days
after my arrival, recalled to Paris by urgent business." It was a
rupture between friends that was never to be healed, and the first
outward indication of troubles that for the moment lay beneath the
surface. De Guerin is still able to dilate on the peaceful charm of
the daily life, on the gaiety of the recreation hour, on the brilliancy
of M. Feli's conversation — " he says charming things ; the keenest,
most piercing, most brilliant thrusts escape him at every moment "
—on his interior virtues. The young man is indignant at the com-
mon opinion that his hero suffers from spiritual pride. The accusa-
tion is " inconceivably false." " There is no man more deeply pene-
trated with humility and the spirit of self-sacrifice." Beside him
we have glimpses of M. Gerbet, the future Bishop of Perpignan,
" gentlest and most long-suffering of men," whom readers of the
Recit d'une Soeur will remember as the trusted advisor of the La
Ferronnays family. Indeed through the Letters and Journal there
flit many well-known names of visitors to La Chenaie — Montalem-
bert, Sainte-Beuve and others — showing how prominent a place
Lamennais still filled in the intellectual life of his day.
How sincere, at the same time, the religious life of the house-
hold was during these months, may be gathered from an event that
occurred at the ensuing Easter, and that is recorded by Maurice in
his Journal:
I have been witness of something very touching: Frangois
(du Breil de Marzan) brought to us one of his friends whom
he has won over to the Faith. The neophyte followed the
exercises of our retreat, and on Easter Sunday received Holy
Communion with us. Frangois is in the seventh heaven of joy,
and must surely have earned much merit. He is still very
young, barely twenty; M. de la Morvonnais is thirty and a
married man. There is something very pleasing and almost
naive in the conduct of M. de la Morvonnais allowing himself
to be led to God by a mere boy; and this youthful friendship,
inspired on the side of Frangois by so apostolic a spirit, is as
beautiful as it is touching. The two men are neighbors in the
country, and they often work together and write each other
charming verses on domestic events.
ipiS] MAURICE DE GU£RIN 335
These two friends, both poets, both enthusiasts for literature
and sensitive lovers of nature — Hippolyte de la Morvonnais was
even to make a pilgrimage to Rydal Mount to pay a tribute of
veneration to Wordsworth — were to become the almost inseparable
companions of de Guerin during the siunmer of 1833, and exercised
the happiest influence over him.
Intellectually, these nine months at La Chenaie were a period of
much profitable study. History, philosophy and science, Greek,
German and English, filled the morning hours, and inspired re-
flections that find their way into the Journal, which, started in the
previous year, is only kept with any regularity after the arrival in
Brittany. If in his letters it is the religious interests of his life,
side by side with the external events, that predominate, in the
Journal, with its greater opportunities for candor, it is his intel-
lectual life, and above all his communings with nature, and the
emotions excited in his soul by the unfamiliar scenery amid which
he found himself. After the years spent in Paris he flings himself
with a passionate rapture into the study of nature, revealing herself
in her northern aspects, sometimes austere and wild, sometimes
inexpressibly tender and lovely. The sea, too, never before seen,
stirs his soul to its depths. French writers, even French poets, so
rarely possess that close understanding and detailed knowledge of
nature that can only be acquired by an ardent and patient nature-
lover, that de Guerin, by the mere fact that he was endowed with the
gift in a very high degree, occupies a unique place in the literature
of his day. Undoubtedly he may be classed as of the school of
Chateaubriand, and of his own favorite author, Bernardin de Saint-
Pierre. Yet with lesser gifts in other respects, and with an incom-
parably smaller literary output, he surpassed them both in his
emotional capacity for identifying himself with the physical life
around him. He felt, in a very real sense, the unity of man with
eternal nature. It was a pantheism that is not necessarily either out-
side of, or in opposition to. Christian faith, that, as in the case
of St. Francis, may be the outcome of an intense realization of all
natural phenomena as the immediate handiwork of God. Without
adopting the exaggerated estimate of his latest biographer, A.
Lefranc, who speaks of his power as absolutely extraordinary and
without any parallel in literature,^ we can accept his verdict when
he asserts that in none of de Guerin's contemporaries has this inti-
*Sce Maurice de Guerin. By Abel Lefranc (1910).
336 MAURICE DE GU^RIN [June,
mate fusion which places the human being in perfect accord with
the external world, been revealed so fully or so continuously.
We know from his sister Eugenie that Maurice's absorption in
nature, which would keep him for hours in rapt meditation under
a favorite tree, dated from his very childhood. With how preco-
cious a literary gift the boy was endowed, is shown in the little prose
poem of surprising beauty, describing the sounds of nature floating
in the air, composed at the age of ten or eleven, before he was sent
to school at Toulouse. In its simple flowing language, devoid
of literary artifice, and in the tender sense of reverence for his
theme, the composition has a strange affinity of feeling with St.
Francis' Canticle of the Sun. Between each unrhymed verse of
irregular length, there occurs the refrain: '' O! qu'Us sont beaux
ces bruits de la nature, ces bruits ripandus dans les airs! "
It fills one with regret that an unkind fate — or may we not
rather say undisceming parents? — should have condemned the boy
to long years of city life, and to the consequent stifling of an
imaginative gift that never found full and free expression until a
dozen years later when he found himself in Brittany — in Brittany
that has given to France some of the greatest of her prose writers —
amid surroundings singularly sympathetic to his poet soul. Hence
the months at La Chenaie, and later at the Val de TArguenon, the
beautiful Breton home of the de la Morvonnais family, show a
sudden ripening of all his faculties. It is, as has been said, in the
Journal, far more than in the letters, that this spontaneous expansion
betrays itself. As the winter slowly gave way before the retarded
spring, the study of Greek and of modern literature was interrupted
by long country rambles, during which Maurice notes, with a reverent
delight, how " all nature is absorbed in the cares of her measureless
maternity." The capricious loveliness of a northern summer draws
forth a corresponding fickleness in the young man's moods. On
May day he writes, groaning in spirit : " How dismal it
is ! Wind, rain, and cold. This first of May is like a wedding day
turned to a day of mourning." There follows a penetrating page
on the sinister moaning of the wind as it lashes the great fir trees
behind the house. Such days, he declares, render him sadder than
in winter; desolation and darkness fill his soul, and it is as though
God Himself had withdrawn His countenance. Happily two days
later he is able to record : " An entrancing day, full of simshine,
gentle breezes, sweet scents in the air, and joy in my soul."
On the whole, however, it is the note of sadness that prevails in
1915] MAURICE DE GU£RIN 337
the Journal. It is true that no Meridional can be transported to the
north without suffering occasional homesickness, and Maurice, op-
pressed by a succession of gray cloud-laden days, pines for the
skies of his native Languedoc, " so generous in light, so blue, so
broadly arched 1 " La Chenaie, in all the glory of May time,
appears to him indeed as an old woman, all wrinkled and hoary,
transformed by the wand of a fairy into an exquisite maiden of
sixteen, but he has learned how fugitive such beauty is in the north.
And apart from all external causes there is the deep-lying melan-
choly of his soul that nothing can relieve for long, a melancholy
bom perhaps of ill health, and nourished by a baffling sense of his
own incapacity that haunted him through life. In the very midst
of the summer he writes:
These last three weeks have passed miserably, so miserably,
indeed, that I have not had the courage to write a single word
either here or elsewhere. The bad mood attacked me with
extreme violence and reduced me to the last extremity. It was
as bad as anything I have had to bear in the past. A letter
from Eugenie that arrived in the middle of the attack did me
much good, but the crisis had to run its course. My God and
my Guardian Angel have pity on me I Shield me from such
sufferings I
A few weeks later we find the following pathetic confession :
My interior life withers away day by day ; I sink, as it were,
into some abyss, and I must have already fallen to a great depth,
for the light scarcely penetrates to me any more, and I feel
the cold creeping upon me. Oh, I know very well what is
dragging me down! I have always said it, and to-day, as I
fall, I will repeat it more emphatically than ever: it is the
desolating conviction of my own impotence; it is this fatal
impotence, a conviction the germ of which I brought here with
me, and that has so increased during these eight months that
it has ended by crushing me, overthrowing me and flinging
me headlong in a fall, the limits of which I cannot see. Yes,
I am falling, that is quite certain, for I no longer see what I
once saw, I no longer feel what I once felt.
As the autiunn advanced, to his interior desolation was added
the pr;actical trouble of having to face once again an unknown and
unprotected future. The Journal says nothing of the causes that
compelled his departure from La Chenaie : two lines, short indeed,
VOL. CL— ^3
338 MAURICE DE GU£RIN [June,
but pregnant with feeling, are all that he vouchsafes to a subject
that must have been uppermost in his thoughts.
" Here I am," he writes (September 3d), " face to face with
the most awful situation — I, the weakest of characters, the most
timid of wills." From his letters, however, to his two intimate
friends we learn that four days later he bade farewell to M. Feli,
and " the doors of the little paradise of La Chenaie " closed behind
him. On the wider issues of the religious controversy as revealed
in the letters of this time from Lamennais to the Pope and from
Gregory XVI. to the Bishop of Rennes, nothing need be said here.*
The immediate cause of the dispersal of the little community was.
the somewhat belated discovery by the bishop of the diocese that
Lamennais was the actual head of the Society of St. Peter, of which
the household at La Chenaie represented the lay element. The
result was an intimation that he was to resign his position as
Superior-General in favor of his brother, the Abbe Jean.
" It seems," wrote Maurice to M. de la Morvonnais (Septem-
ber 4th), " that we are to leave here early next week for St. Meen,
where we make a week's retreat, and after that we are to shut
ourselves up at Ploermel."
This was the home of the Brothers of Christian Instruction,
the teaching order of which the Abbe Jean was the founder. The
arrangement, however, would not seem to have worked satisfac-
torily, for a couple of months later (November 7th) Maurice
writes again to his friend:
The outcry that has been raging for some time against M. Fell
first necessitated our departure from La Chenaie. But a far
worse trial awaited me. The Congregation has been placed in so
critical a position, and has been compelled to humor such acute
susceptibilities, that it has been deemed more prudent to admit
no further laymen, and to send away those already received.
This decision flings me back upon the world, and forces me to
take up once more the difficult task of my own future. All this
has happened so suddenly that I have scarcely had time to look
round in search of a refuge. I wrote off in haste to the college
at Juilly begging for admission, and am daily expecting a
reply
No reply came, but the serious embarrassment in which the
impecunious young man found himself, pending the choice of a
'See The Abbi de Lamennais and the Liberal Catholic Movement in France.
By the Hon. William Gibson. (New York: Longmans, Green & Co. 1896.)
19IS.1 MAURICE DE GU6RIN 339
career, was solved for the moment by Hippolyte de la Morvonnais,
who invited him on a long visit to le Val de TArguenon, his ancestral
home at a wild spot on the Breton coast. The weeks that followed
would appear to have been among the happiest in de Guerin's life.
The romantic site of the mansion within hearing of the ocean's roar,
the intellectual companionship of de la Morvonnais and his friends,
combined with the exquisite perfume of a very perfect family life —
to which Maurice, after months of seclusion, was characteristically
sensitive — rendered the visit in every way memorable. To it we
owe some of the most beautiful and poetic pages of the Journal,
touched with a sense of genuine gratitude to his hosts. Never, he
declares, has he participated so intimately and so purely in the joys
of family life. He breathes, as it were, a cloud of invisible incense.
The personalities of the little circle he describes in a well-known
passage :
A man, religious and a poet; a woman whose soul is so
intimately united with his as to form but one; a child named
Marie like her mother, the first rays of whose love and intelli-
gence shine, like a star, through the white veil of childhood ; a
simple life in a venerable mansion; the ocean which, morning
and evening, brings us its harmonies; finally, a pilgriin from
Carmel on his way to Babylon, who has left his staff and
sandals at the threshold to take his seat at the hospitable board :
of such material a Biblical poem might well be composed were
I as competent to describe things as to feel them.
There follow idyllic pictures of daily life at le Val, interspersed
with fine passages — very difficult to translate at all adequately
owing to the sonorous harmony of the language — describing with
a sort of fierce joy the winter storms when the waves chased each
other over the vast expanse of waters "like countless hordes of
Tartar horsemen galloping ceaselessly across the steppes of Asia."
The old passion for " the sounds of nature " asserted itself once
more amid the wild elements of a northern winter, as the young
poet lay awake at night listening to the howling of the wind, or
tramped the coast in all weathers with his host. Meanwhile the
religious sense still remained, indeed, as when he notes : " The moon
with a few stars was still shining when the bell summoned us to
Mass. How I love this Mass at dawn, celebrated between the last
glimmerings of the stars and the first rays of the sun."
During the five short years of life which was all that remained
340 MAURICE DE GU&RIN [June,
to Maurice de Guerin when, in the early spring of 1834, the diligence
carried him back to Paris, he never again visited Brittany. The
months there, so rich in new impressions and intellectual friend-
ships, had done much to bring his mind to maturity. Back in
Paris, aspiring to a journalistic career under the kindly auspices
of his friend, Paul Quemper, he still frequented for a time the little
coterie of clever yoimg men whose acquaintance he had made at
La Chenaie and le Val. On its material side the life he entered
upon was a ceaseless struggle with poverty and ill health and the
distasteful drudgery of teaching. Only his evenings and his rare
leisure could be given to the study and the literary pursuits that
he loved, with the result that his published writings during his
lifetime were so occasional — a few articles in La France Catholique
and other reviews — that his reputation scarcely penetrated beyond
the circle of his personal friends. These, however, thanks to the
charm of his personality, his talents, his melancholy and his good
looks, rapidly increased in niunber. His latest biographer, A.
Lefranc, has disinterred many interesting details concerning this
period, hitherto wrapped somewhat in obscurity, owing to the
comparative rarity of his letters home. Our first knowledge is due
mainly to the numerous references to de Guerin discovered in the
journal of Barbey d'Aurevilly, the inseparable friend of these later
years. They show us Maurice flinging himself, as far as health
and means would allow, into the dissipations of Paris life, and
suffering both in soul and body. His temporary abandonment of the
practices of religion at this time is well known ; to his sister Eugenie,
as may be gathered from her Journal, it was a source of the tender-
est sorrow. No doubt the mental attitude of revolt against eccle-
siastical authority which he had acquired as a disciple of Lamennais
lay at the root of his later indifference, combined perhaps with his
increasing absorption in classic art and literature. In any case, his
attitude would seem to have been one of drifting away from Catholic
influences, rather than any definite intellectual abandonment of the
faith of his boyhood.
The last event to record is de Guerin's somewhat amazing
marriage (November, 1838), due largely to the friendly offices
of d'Aurevilly, to a chamiing and wealthy Creole girl, the sister of
one of his pupils. It brought him, if not much happiness, at least
leisure to work as he would, and the comforts that his shattered
health needed. Unhappily this material good fortune came to him
too late. He must indeed have been in galloping consumption when
ipiS] MAURICE DE GU^RIN 341
the marriage was celebrated ; Eugenie's Letters and Journal of this
period are full of the poignant terror with which she noted the
increasing gravity of his symptoms. Seven months after the mar-
riage she hurried back to Paris to take her place by the bedside of
the invalid, and as a last desperate expedient it was resolved to carry
him by easy stages back to his home in the South. The journey to
Le Cayla lasted three weeks, and for ten brief days longer the dying
man lingered, tended with the utmost devotion. Readers of Eu-
genie's Journal will remember the long and touching account, which
six months later, she forced herself to commit to paper, of her
brother's last days. From this source we learn that his return to
faith was far more than a deathbed repentance. The previous
Easter, thanks in great measure to his old friend, the Abbe Buquet,
one of the masters of the College Stanislas, he had received the
Sacraments, and through all the last weeks of his illness he submitted
himself with an entire docility to the religious influences with which
his sister surrounded him. It was the answer to the ardent prayers
which daily, all his life long, she had offered on his behalf.
Maurice de Guerin's literary fame is wholly posthumous. An
article by George Sand, in the Revue des Deux Mondes (May 15,
1840), first drew the attention of the critics to the rare literary
quality of his unpublished remains, more especially of Le Centaure,
a beautiful prose poem, rich in classical feeling. When, by the
good offices of his friends, aided by the eager collaboration of
Eugfoie, the articles and poems left by him were gathered together
and given to the world with the Journal, they evoked a burst of
enthusiasm, and the brother and sister became the objects of a cult
that endures to this day. Yet, when all is said, Maurice's achieve-
ment was little more than fragments, of an exquisite quality indeed,
but lacking in any unity of thought or any constructive power.
Poet as he was in spirit, his verse has never been accorded a high
place by French critics. There was in him some fatal element of
weakness, of which he was himself at times acutely conscious, due
no doubt largely to ill health, which hindered his remarkable gifts
from coming to a perfect fruition. Hence the Letters and the
Journal — ^the unpremeditated outpourings of his idle moments —
remain his most delightful and characteristic utterances. Gifted as
he was, had he been the equal of his sister in moral qualities, in the
power of self-control without which there can be little real achieve-
ment, the result would surely have been otherwise. In this instance
it was the man who was emotional and unstable, the woman who
34^ THE ROSE WINDOW [June,
was strong and balanced, the prop and counsellor all through life of
her brilliant younger brother.
It has been suggested that Lamennais never sufficiently aiq)re-
ciated the pupil whose pen was to preserve many vivid details of
the life they led under a common roof — ^may it not have been
because his keen eye detected from the first the irremediable weak-
ness of his nature? Be that as it may, Maurice de Guerin owed
much to his master, and his sojourn at La Chenaie gave an impulse
both to his imaginative and his intellectual life of incalculable value.
Without the pages written in Brittany the Journal would be shorn
of half its beauty.
THE ROSE WINDOW,
BY ELEANOR TANNER.
I HAVE four windows to my soul.
Facing the Light above :
Faith that is ever near to Hope,
And Fear, most close to Love.
A trembling flame is Faith ; and Hope,
Heaven's quickly clouded blue;
Pale opal is surrendered Fear,
Wounded in every hue ;
But Love is gold : O rose of gold.
Where only Light reigns true!
And in the centre of my soul
I'm fain at rest to be,
While from above that rose of Love
Alone shines down on me.
COttPERATION A PARTIAL SOLVENT OF CAPITALISM.
BY JOHN A. RYAN, D.D.
OOPERATIVE production has occasionally been pro-
nounced a failure. This judgment is too sweeping
and too severe. "As a matter of fact," says a recent
issue of a prominent London weekly, "the co-
operators' success has been even more remarkable in
production than in distribution. The cooperative movement runs
five of the largest of our flour mills; it has, amongst others, the
very largest of our boot factories; it makes cotton cloth and
woolens, and all sorts of clothing; it has even a corset factory of
its own ; it turns out huge quantities of soap ; it makes every article
of household furniture; it produces cocoa and confectionery; it
grows its own fruit and makes its own jams; it has one of the
largest tobacco factories, and so on." Obviously this passage re-
fers to that kind of productive cooperation which is carried on by
the stores, not to productive concerns owned and managed by the
workers therein employed. Nevertheless the enterprises in question
are cooperatively managed, and hence exemplify cooperation rather
than private and competitive industry. They ought not to be left out
of any statement of the field occupied by cooperative production.
The limitations and possibilities of cooperation in production can
best be set forth by considering its three different forms
separately.
The " perfect " form occurs when all the workers engaged in
a concern own all the share capital, control the entire management,
and receive the whole of the wages, profits, and interest. In this
field the failures have been much more numerous and conspicuous
than the successes. Godin's stove works at Guise, France, is the
only important enterprise of this kind that is now in existence.
Great Britain has several establishments in which the workers own
a large part of the capital, but apparently none in which they are
the sole proprietors and managers. The " labor societies " of Italy,
consisting mostly of diggers, masons, and bricklayers, cooperatively
enter into contracts for the performance of public works, and share
in the profits of the undertaking in addition to their wages ; but the
only capital that they provide consists of comparatively simple and
344 COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM [June,
inexpensive tools. The raw material and other capital is furnished
by the public authority which gives the contract.
A second kind of productive cooperation is found in the ar-
rangement known as co-partnership. This is "the system under
which, in the first place, a substantial and known share of the profit
of a business belongs to the workers in it, not by right of any shares
they may hold, or any other title, but simply by right of the labor
they have contributed to make the profit; and, in the second place,
every worker is at liberty to invest his profit, or any other savings,
in shares of the society or company, and so become a member
entitled to vote on the affairs of the body which employs him."^
So far as its first, or profit sharing, f eatiu^e is concerned, co-partner-
ship is not genuine cooperation, for it includes neither ownership
of capital nor management of the business. Cooperative action
begins only with the adoption of the second element. In most of
the existing co-partnership concerns, all the employees are urged,
and many of them required, to invest at least a part of their profits
in the capital stock. The most notable and successful of these
experiments is the South Metropolitan Gas Company of London.
Practically all the company's six thousand employees ate now
among its stockholders. Although their combined holdings are
only about one twenty-eighth of the total, they are empowered to
select two of the ten members of the board of directors. Essen-
tially the same co-partnership arrangements have been adopted by
about one-half the privately-owned gas companies of Great Britain.
In none of them, however, have the workers obtained as yet such a
large percentage of either ownership or control as in the South
Metropolitan. Co-partnership exists in several other enterprises
in Great Britain, and is found in a considerable niunber of French
concerns. There are a few instances in the United States, the most
thoroughgoing being that of N. O. Nelson & Co. at St. Louis.
As already noted, the cooperative stores exemplify a third type
of cooperative production. In some cases the productive concern is
under the management of a local retail establishment, but the great
majority of them are conducted by the English and Scottish Whole-
sale Societies. As regards the employees of these enterprises, the
arrangement is not true cooperation, since they have no part in the
ownership of the capital. The Scottish Wholesale Society, as we
have seen, permits the employees of its productive works to share
in the profits thereof ; nevertheless, it does not admit them as stock-
^SchloM, Uttkods of Industrial Remuneration, pp. 353, 354.
1915] COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM 345
holders, nor give them any voice in the management. In all cases
the workers may, indeed, become owners of stock in their local
retail stores. Since the latter are stockholders in the wholesale
societies, which in turn own the productive enterprises, the workers
have a certain indirect and attenuated proprietorship in the produc-
tive concerns. But they derive therefrom no dividends. All the
interest and most of the profits of the productive establishments
are taken by the wholesale and retail stores. For it is the theory of
the wholesale societies that the employees in the works of production
should share in the gains thereof only as consumers. They are to
profit only in the same way and to the same extent as other
consimier-members of the local retail establishments.
The most effective and beneficial form of cooperative produc-
tion is evidently that which has been described as the -" perfect "
type. Were all production organized on this plan, the social burden
of interest would be insignificant, industrial despotism would be
ended, and industrial democracy realized. As things are, however,
the establishments exemplifying this type are of small importance.
Their increase and expansion are impeded by lack of directive
ability and of capital, and the risk to the workers' savings. Yet
none of these obstacles is necessarily insuperable. Directive ability
can be developed, in the course of time, just as it was in the coopera-
tive stores. Capital can be obtained fast enough perhaps to keep
pace with the supply of directive ability and the spirit of coopera-
tion. The risk undertaken by workers who put their savings into
productive concerns owned and managed by themselves, need not
be greater than that now borne by investors in private enterprises
of the same kind. There is no essential reason why the former
should not provide the same profits and insurance against business
risks as the latter. While the employees assume none of the risks
of capitalistic industry, neither do they receive any of the profits.
If the cooperative factory exhibits the same degree of business
efficiency as the private enterprise, it will necessarily afford the
workers adequate protection for their savings and capital. Indeed,
if " perfect " cooperative production is to be successful at all, its
profits will be larger than those of the capitalistic concern, owing
to the greater interest taken by the workers in their tasks, and in
the management of the business.
For a long time to come, however, it is probable that " perfect "
cooperative production will be confined to relatively small and local
industries. The difficulty of finding sufficient workers' capital and
346 COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM [June,
ability to carry on, for example, a transcontinental railroad or a
nation-wide steel business, is not likely to be overcome for one or
two generations.*
The labor co-partnership form of cooperation is susceptible of
much wider and more rapid extension. It can be adapted readily to
the very large, as well as to the small and. medium sized, concerns.
Since it requires the workers to own but a part of the capital, it
can be established in any enterprise in which the capitalists show
themselves willing and sympathetic. In every industrial corpora-
tion there are some employees who possess savings, and these can be
considerably increased through the profit sharing feature of co-part-
nership. A very long time must, indeed, elapse before the workers
in any of the larger enterprises could get possession of all, or even
of a controlling share, of the capital, but so much time would prob-
ably be needed to educate and fit them for successful management.
Production under the direction of the cooperative stores can
be extended faster than either of the other two forms, and it has
before it a very wide, even though definitely limited, field. The
British wholesale societies have already shown themselves able
to conduct with great success large manufacturing concerns, have
trained and attracted an adequate number of competent leaders, and
have accumulated so much capital that they have been obliged to
invest several million pounds in other enterprises. The possible
scope of the stores and their cooperative production has been well
described by C. R. Fay : " Distribution of goods for personal con-
sumption, first, among the working class population ; second, among
the salaried classes who feel a homogeneity of professional interest ;
production by working class organizations alone (with rare excep-
tions in Italy) of all the goods which they distribute to their mem-
bers. But this is its limit. Distribution among the remaining sec-
tions of the industrial population; production for distribution
to these members ; production of the instruments of production, and
production for international trade; the services of transport and
exchange : all these industrial departments are, so far as can be
seen, permanently outside the domain of a store movement."*
The theory by which the stores attempt to justify their exclu-
sion of the employees of their productive concerns from a share
of the profits thereof, is that all profits come ultimately from the
pockets of the consumer, and should all return to that source. The
'C/., however, Mr. A. R. Orage's work on Guild Socialism,
*0p, cit., p. 341.
191 5l COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM 347
defect in this theory is that it ignores the question whether the con-
sumers ought not to be required to pay a sufficiently high price for
their goods to provide the producers with profits in addition to
wages. While the wholesale stores are the owners and managers of
the capital in the productive enterprises, and on the capitalistic
principle should obtain the profits, the question remains whether
this is necessarily a sound principle, and whether it is in harmony
with the theory and ideals of cooperation. In those concerns which
have adopted the labor co-partnership scheme, the workers, even
when they own none of the capital, are accorded a part of the profits.
It is asstmied that this is a fairer and wiser method of distribution
than that which gives the laborer only wages, leaving all the profits
to the manager-capitalist. This feature of co-partnership rests on
the theory that the workers can, if they will, increase their efficiency
and reduce the friction between themselves and their employer to
such an extent as to make the profit sharing arrangement a good
thing for both parties. Consequently the profits obtained by the
workers are a payment for this specific contribution to the pros-
perity of the business. Why should not this theory find recognition
in productive enterprises conducted by the cooperative stores?
In the second place, the workers in these concerns ought to be
permitted to participate in the capital ownership and management.
They would thus be strongly encouraged to become better workers,
to save more money, and to increase their capacity for initiative
and self-government. Moreover, this arrangement would go
farther than any other system toward reconciling the interests of
producer and consiuner. As producer, the worker would obtain,
besides his wages, interest and profits up to the limit set by the
competition of private productive concerns. As consumer, he would
share in the profits and interest which would otherwise have gone
to the private distributive enterprises. In this way the producer
and consumer would each receive the gains that were due specifically
and respectively to his activity and efficiency.
At this point it will perhaps be well to siun up the advantages
and to estimate the prospects of the cooperative movement. In all
its forms cooperation eliminates some waste of capital and energy,
and therefore transfers some interest and profits from a special
capitalist and undertaking class to a larger and economically weaker
group of persons. For it must be borne in mind that all cooperative
enterprises are conducted mainly by and for laborers or small
farmers. Hence the system always makes directly for a better
348 COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM [June,
distribution of wealth. To a considerable extent it transfers capital
ownership from those who do not themselves work with or upon
capital to those who are so engaged, namely, the laborers and the
farmers; thus it diminishes the unhealthy separation now existing
between the owners and the users of the instruments of prcjiiluction.
Cooperation has, in the second place, a very great educational value.
It enables and induces the weaker members of economic society to
combine and utilize energies and resources that would otherwise
remain unused and undeveloped; and it greatly stimulates and
fosters initiative, self-confidence, self-restraint, self-government,
and the capacity for democracy. In other words, it vastly increases
the development and the efficiency of the individual. It likewise
induces him to practise thrift, and frequently provides better fields
for investment than would be open to him outside the cooperative
movement. It diminishes selfishness and inculcates altruism; for
no cooperative enterprise can succeed in which the individual mem-
bers are not willing to make greater sacrifices for the common
good than are ordinarily evoked by private enterprise. Precisely
because cooperation makes such heavy demands upon the capacity
for altruism, its progress always has been and must always continue
to be relatively slow. Its fundamental and perhaps chief merit is
that it does provide the mechanism and the atmosphere for a greater
development of the altruistic spirit than is possible under any other
economic system that has ever been tried or devised.
By putting productive property into the hands of those who
now possess little or nothing, cooperation promotes social stability
and social progress. This statement is true in some degree of all
forms of cooperation, but it applies with particular force to those
forms which are carried on by the working classes. A steadily
growing number of keen-sighted social students are coming to
realize that an industrial system which permits a comparatively
small section of society to own the means of production and the
instrumentalities of distribution, leaving to the great majority of
the workers nothing but their labor power, is fundamentally un-
stable, and contains within itself the germs of inevitable dissolution.
No mere adequacy of wages and other working conditions, and no
mere security of the workers' livelihood, can permanently avert
this danger, nor compensate the individual for the lack of power
to determine those activities of life which depend upon the posses-
sion of property. Through cooperation this unnatural divorce
of the users from the owners of capital can be to a considerable
1915] COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM 349
degree minimized. The worker is converted from a mere wage
earner to a wage earner plus a property owner, thus becoming a
safer and more useful member of society. In a word, cooperation
produces all the well-recognized individual and social benefits which
have in all ages been evoked by the " magic of property."
Finally, cooperation is a golden mean between individualism
and Socialism. It includes all the good features and excludes all
the evil features of both. On the one hand, it demands and develops
individual initiative and self-reliance, makes the rewards of the
individual depend upon his own efforts and efficiency, and gives
him full ownership of specific pieces of property. On the other
hand, it compels him to submerge much of the selfishness and
indifference to the welfare of his fellows which characterize our
individual economy. It embraces all the good that is claimed for
Socialism, because it induces men to consider and to work earnestly
for the common good, eliminates much of the waste of competitive
industry, reduces and redistributes the burdens of profits and in-
terest, and puts the workers in control of capital and industry. At
the same time, it avoids the evils of an industrial despotism, of
bureaucratic inefficiency, of individual indifference, and of an all-
pervading collective ownership. The resemblances that Socialists
sometimes profess to see between their system and cooperation, are
superficial and far less important than the differences. Under both
arrangements the workers would, we are told, own and control the
means of production; but the members of a cooperative society
directly own and immediately control a definite amount of specific
capital, which is essentially private property. In a Socialist regime
the workers' ownership of capital would be collective not private,
general not specific, while their control of the productive instru-
ments with which they worked would be shared with other citizens.
The latter would vastly outnumber the workers in any particular
industry, and would be interested therein not as producers but as
consumers. No less obvious and fundamental are the differences
in favor of cooperation as regards the vital matters of freedom,
opportunity, and efficiency.
In so far as the future of cooperation can be predicated from
its past, the outlook is distinctly encouraging. The success attained
in credit, agriculture, and distribution is a sufficient guarantee for
these departments. While productive cooperation has experienced
more failures than successes, it has finally shown itself to be sound
in principle, and feasible in practise. Its extension will necessarily
350 COOPERATION AND CAPITALISM [June,
be slow, but this is exactly what should be expected by anyone who
is acquainted with the limitations of human nature, and the hisjory
of human progress. If a movement that is capable of modifying
so profoundly the condition of the workers, as is cooperative pro-
duction, gave indications of increasing rapidly, we should be inclined
to question its soundness and permanence. Experience has given
us abundant proof that no mere system or machinery can eflfect a
revolutionary improvement in economic conditions. No social
system can do more than provide a favorable environment for the
development of those individual capacities and energies which are
the true and the only causal forces of betterment.
Nor is it to be expected that any of the other three forms of
cooperation will ever cover the entire field to which it might, abso-
lutely speaking, be extended; or that cooperation as a whole will
become the one industrial system of the future. Even if the latter
contingency were possible it would not be desirable. The elements
of our economic life, and the capacities of human nature, are too
varied and too complex to be forced with advantage into any one
system, whether Capitalism, Socialism, or Cooperation. Any single
system or form of socio-economic organization would prove an
intolerable obstacle to individual opportunity and social progress.
Multiplicity and variety in social and industrial orders are required
for an effective range of choices, and an adequate scope for human
effort. In a general way, the limits of cooperation in relation to
the other forms of economic organization have been satisfactorily
stated by Mr. Aneurin Williams : " I suggest, therefore, that where
there are great monopolies, either natural or created by the com-
bination of businesses, there you have a presumption in favor of
state and municipal ownership. In those forms of industry where
individuality is everything; where there are new inventions to
make, or to develop or put on the market, or merely to adopt in
some rapidly transformed industry; where the eye of the master is
everything; where reference to a committee, or appeals from one
official to another would cause fatal delay: there is the natural
sphere of individual enterprise pure and simple. Between these
two extremes there is surely a great sphere for voluntary associa-
tion to carry on commerce, manufacture, and retail trade, in circum-
stances where there is no natural monopoly, and where the routine
of work is not rapidly changing, but on the whole fairly well
established and constant."*
* Copartnership and Profit-Sharing, p. 235.
1915] THE SEA WINDS 351
The province open to cooperation is, indeed, very large. If it
were fully occupied the danger of a social revolution would be non-
existent, and what remained of the socio-mdustrial problem would
be relatively undisturbing and unimportant. The " specialization
of function " in industrial organization, as outlined by Mr. Williams,
would give a balanced economy in which the three great socio-
economic systems and principles would have full play, and each
would be required to do its best in fair competition with the other
two. Economic life would exhibit a diversity making strongly for
social satisfaction and stability, inasmuch as no very large section
of the industrial population would desire to overthrow the existing
order. Finally, the choice of three great systems of industry would
offer the utmost opportunity and scope for the energies and the
development of the individual And this, when all is said, remains
the supreme end of a just and efficient socio-industrial organization.
[the end.]
THE SEA WINDS.
BY CAROLINE D. SWAN.
WINDS that sweep along the singing wires,
Great winds of God from His vast solemn seas.
They stir strange hopes, your eerie melodies
Like spirit echoes of seraphic choirs.
1 listen with a soul that never tires !
" Speak, Lord ! Thy servant heareth." Every breeze
Brings words of comfort or of strength to ease
The pain of loss and Life's poor bumt-out fires.
Ye blow across the blue — the tender blue
Of March, whose loving thought is of the bloom
In store and soon to come. I hope anew !
The misty ocean so enwrapped in gloom
Ye cross it, safe. " Eternity's deep sea
Waits soft and safe," ye say, " dear Heart, for thee."
OJ
OUR LADY'S ROSES.
BY N. H. WATTS.
N a tree in a garden grew a little rosebud. For days
she slept behind her green curtains, and all her world
was dark. But one morning she turned and
stretched herself, and moved her little green curtain
aside, and looked out upon the garden.
" Why, what a beautiful place the world is ! " she said, " and
what a beautiful creature I am! " And for a long time she was
quite speechless in admiration of the delicate pink flush in which
her petals were dressed.
The next morning she awoke to find all her green curtains
drawn, and the dew upon her turned to jewels by the bright warm
sun, which was smiling at her over the tree tops. And again the
little rosebud looked out upon the garden.
" Why, it is more beautiful than ever 1 " she cried. " And to
think that all my life I shall hang upon this spray, and gaze upon
the beautiful world! I shall be happy here forever."
So she heaved a great sigh of contentment, and as she drew
in her breath, she inhaled her own wondrous fragrance, and laughed
for joy, so that all her petals opened a wee bit wider.
" Oh, I am the most charming creature in the universe ! " she
said. And all that day her joy made her open her petals wider and
wider, that she might drink in all the beauty and happiness that she
saw around her.
The first thing she saw next day when she opened her eyes was
a little lark, who sprang up from the grass at the foot of the tree
whereon she grew, and soared straight up into the far blue sky.
" Little lark, little lark," said the rosebud, " why do you fly
so high? Are you not content to stay in this beautiful garden
always?"
" Rosebud, rosebud," said the lark, as she climbed up and up,
" I can see far finer sights up here. Away over the plain I can see
a great city, where men are toiling and sorrowing and rejoicing.
I can see great ships sailing up a broad river, and bringing to the
city rich freights from every land. And far beyond I can see the
tumbling sea, whereon sail brave men bent on great adventure.
19151 OUR LADY'S ROSES 353
And I can hear the cries of all the world mounting up to God, and
praising Him for its sorrow and its joy. And it is all so wonder-
ful that I cannot help singing and singing forever."
The rosebud heaved another tiny sigh, a sigh of longing this
time, and hung her little pink head. Somehow the garden did not
look so beautiful as it had looked a minute ago.
Up and up soared the lark, straight into the stmlight, until he
was lost to view. But his song still rang clear and loud, and the
sound of it was like the song the angels sing when a little child is
bom.
In a few minutes a white butterfly came dancing along the
garden path.
" Let me talk to you for a moment," said the butterfly to the
rosebud. " I have just been talking to the lily over there. Out of
mere politeness I had to stay a full half -minute, but she bored me
to distraction. Goodness, it is so dull, is it not? But let me stay
and talk to you, for I am sure you will not bore me."
The rosebud was so flattered that she positively blushed two
shades darker, and said :
" Dear little butterfly, how very kind you are ! But do tell me
one thing. Why do you always flutter about? Are you not con-
tent always to sit in the same place, and gaze on this beautiful
garden?"
" What! " cried the butterfly, with a little giggle of amusement.
"Stay always in one place! Why, I should be bored to death.
What is the use of life without constant change of scene? I have
traveled to the very ends of the garden, and have exchanged views
with all sorts and conditions of creatures. Society, my dear,
society, that is the only thing worth living for. But, of course, you
are very young as yet, very young indeed. And what a disgust-
ing creature that sunflower is! Loud brazen thing! Some
people are so distressingly vulgar. Well! Ta-ta! I must be
getting on."
And off she flew, and dropped in for a chat with a huge gaudy-
peony a couple of yards away.
And the little rosebud became very pensive, and in her sadness
she let her head droop so low that she almost brushed against her
elder sister, who was growing on a spray just beneath her.
" Why are you so sad, little sister? " said the elder rose, look-
ing up at her.
The little rosebud heaved a very deep sigh. " I was think-
voL. a.— 23
354 OUR LADY'S ROSES [June,
ing," she said, " that it was rather unkind of God to put us poor
flowers in one place all our lives. All our lives we must hang here
upon this tree, and should anyone chance to pluck us, we should
leave this tree only to die. Beautiful as is this garden, its beauty
will pall after a while, and then our life will be but a dead thing.
And, besides, there are far fairer sights and sounds in the great
world beyond the hedge yonder. There are cities full of toil and
sorrow and joy. There are great ships that sail from far countries
over the sea. And then, moreover, one needs change and society,
and what change and society can any flower get? Ah, life is a
very sad and a very cruel thing! "
" Little sister," said the rose, " I have been full bloom for
five days now, so you must not mind if I speak to you as one who
knows more of the world than yoiu"self. God has indeed bound us
to live our whole lives out in one place until we die; but if you knew
more of the world you would know that this is a privilege and not
a punishment, a blessing and not a curse. For God has willed that
we should see not alone the surface of things, but their heart, that
our knowledge should be not broad, but deep as truth, and far-
seeing as love. So he bids us live not for ourselves, but for others,
not to spend, but to be spent, not to enjoy, but to be enjoyed. Ours
is the highest duty to which any creature is called, the duty of self-
sacrifice."
Again the little rosebud hung her head. " But," she said, " we
are so poor and frail and helpless. A puff of wind could scatter
all our lovely petals upon the path. A single hailstone might wreck
us in a moment. How and why should we be called to this great
duty?"
" Little sister," said the rose, " look at the deepening scarlet of
your petals. Draw in your breath, and inhale the wondrous per-
fume that lurks about your heart. Was it for nothing, think you,
that God gave you that perfume and that color? No ! We flowers
are bom to keep joy alive in the world. We must die that joy may
.be born."
"But how can we bring joy to anyone?" said the rosebud.
" Why, no one has even seen me yet except the gardener, and he
passed by without giving me so much as a single glance."
"Little rosebud," said her sister, "before you were awake
yesterday, the gardener came to gather a bouquet for the Princess.
We had an elder sister then, who grew upon the spray to my right
She was the loveliest of us all, and, when the gardener saw her, he
igiSl OUR LADY'S ROSES 355
picked her, and put her in the centre of the bouquet. For a few
days she will stand in the Princess' bower, and all the courtiers and
fine ladies will admire her. She will be the proudest and happiest
flower in the worid."
" And what will happen to her then? " said the rosebud.
" She will be thrown away upon a rubbish heap," said her
sister. " She will lie there d)ring amid heaps of rotting refuse.
But that will not matter. She will have given birth to joy, and joy
can never die."
The little rosebud shuddered. She did not like the thought of
dying on a rubbish heap.
" And is there no higher end to which we roses may aspire? "
she asked with a sigh.
" Yes," said the elder rose, " there is a higher end, but I
cannot tell you what it is, for I do not know. Only my heart tells
me that it is so, and the heart of a rose was never known to tell a
lie. I pray every day that this may be my end." And she too
sighed in her turn.
The little rosebud lay awake until quite late that night, wonder-
ing what this great end could be, and she also prayed that it might be
hers. Then, just as she was dozing off, she felt a gentle kiss on
her forehead, and, opening her eyes with a start, found that a dear
little dewdrop had settled upon her.
" Oh, you beautiful little thing," she said, " where did you come
from, and why did you kiss me like that? It made me happier than
I have ever been in my life."
" The good God sent me to you," replied the dewdrop, " to tell
you that your prayer is answered, and that you are to die the noblest
death that any rose can die. Sleep now, and rest in perfect peace,
for God, Who loves and watches over all His creatures, has you in
His special keeping. And let me stay with you through the night,
for early in the morning I must fly home again to God."
The little rosebud was filled with a deep joy and thankfulness.
" Sister, sister," she cried, " wake up for one minute, and hear
what the little dewdrop has come to tell me. I am to die the noblest
death that any rose can die."
" Praise be to Him for His great goodness ! " said her sister.
" And O my darling, pray to Him for me too, that I may not be
forgotten when the hour of my death shall come. Good-night,
little sister!"
Then they both fell into a calm sleep, and all night the dew-
356 OUR LADY'S ROSES [June,
drop lay upon the brow of the rosebud, and told her stories of
heaven as she slumbered.
All night long a great peace lay upon the garden. There was
no sound through all its lawns and beds and terraces, nor any-
thing that moved, save when an owl cried from the dark woods that
clothed the hills around, or when a little breeze awoke from time to
time and rustled softly among the flowers. Then, while a pale star
still gleamed here and there among the cloud rifts, and before the
first shy bird broke into song, a sudden heavy storm came down,
and passed away with as great suddenness as it had begun. Be-
hind her green curtains the little rosebud slept soundly through it
all; not a hailstone touched her. But when the sun rose in a clear
sky, and all the birds were singing, she opened her eyes and looked
out upon the garden, and saw a sight that filled her with sorrow and
dismay. There on the path below her lay her sister, torn almost
petal from petal by the pitiless storm, beaten and drowned and all
but dead, among the hailstones that still lay gleaming harmlessly
upon the gravel. The dewdrop had vanished, and for one moment
the little rosebud knew all the anguish of utter loneliness, than which
there is no more terrible aflliction.
"Ah, dear sister!" she cried, "what has happened to you?
How shall I be able to live without you? "
" Good-bye ! " whispered the dying rose, " I die happy, for I
know that God will use me as He thinks best. His will be done."
Then there was a sound of feet in the distance, and the gar-
dener's boy came up with a wheelbarrow full of weeds. He put
down his barrow, picked up the rose, threw her among the weeds,
and went on his way down the path.
The day that followed was the loveliest of all the lovely spring-
time. How the grass sparkled under the bright sunshine! How
the birds sang, as though their hearts would break with joy ! And
how every flower lifted up its frightened head after the storm,
and thanked God for its life ! All the garden was one voice of glad-
ness. Only the poor little rosebud, left quite alone on the tree, was
very sad, and longed for death. Life seemed so useless and so
vain, and God seemed only to mock His creatures with the hope
and the loveliness that He gave to them.
Towards midday a youth and a maiden came strolling to-
gether down the garden path. They were both nobly dressed and
very beautiful, and their voices broke into ripples of happy laughter
as they came, as the sea wave breaks into ripples upon the shore.
igiS] OUR LADY'S ROSES 357
When they came to the tree whereon the rosebud grew they
stopped.
" See what a lovely little bud ! " said the maiden, as she bent
her head down towards it; " it looks so himian, too. I am sure it
feels joy and sorrow just as we do."
"What pretty nonsense!" said the boy, laughing; "but, as
you say, it is a lovely little thing. There is only one fit setting for
it. You must let me pick it and twine it in your hair. Then I
shall say that there is no lovelier flower in all the world." And he
put out his hand to pluck it.
But the maiden caught his hand and pulled it back. " No, no ;
you must not pluck it," she said. "Do you not know that the
Princess has given orders that all the most beautiful flowers in the
garden are to be gathered in baskets to-morrow to be strewn before
Our Lord's Body when It is carried in procession through the
village? This rose is dedicated to His service, and you surely
would not rob Him of His due."
" What a pity," said the youth, " that such a lovely flower
should be torn petal from petal and cast down in the mud, to be
trodden under the feet of ignorant villagers. Besides, this one
bud will never be missed from among so many. There are hun-
dreds of roses in the garden."
" Hush ! " she replied. " The good God would miss it. Per-
haps He has willed that it should spend its beauty in His service.
He has spared very much for you. Will you not spare Him this
one rose?"
The lad flushed deeply, and hung his head. " You are quite
right," he murmered. "Forgive me; I was thoughtless."
She took his hand, and pressed it gently, and they went on to-
gether down the path. Soon the little rosebud heard them talking
and laughing again as gaily as ever.
Then into the dark heart of the poor little rose there poured
a great flood of light All her sorrows and disillusions melted into
a deep peace and joy. This, then, was the secret of her color and
her fragrance. She was to make sweet and soft the way of the King
of Kings, as He passed in purple pomp among His people !
And now, as she looked out upon the garden, like a flash burst
upon her the secrets of all the world. She saw the whole range of
life and death pictured in that narrow enclosure. From her little
tree she saw all that the lark had seen, broad seas and great cities,
filled with toil and sorrow and joy. She looked deep into the heart
358 OUR LADY'S ROSES [June,
of each tiny creature, aifd knew it, not as the butterfly knew it,
but as Love Himself. And she saw brooding over all suffering
and all sorrow a Figure with marred visage and wasted eyes,
whispering to the world to hope beyond hope, to trust where trust
was dead, because joy was above death and beyond all, because the
way led out of shadows and images into the undying and all-pre-
vailing Truth, which was Love.
She had but a few hours of life, but a few hours in which to
praise God for her being. Then she would fall into the Everlasting
Arms and be at peace.
It was a lovely morning of June, and the folk in their brightest
dresses were gathering to the church. The deep bell tolled a few
strokes and died. Then the great organ lifted up its voice, and
filled the arches with melody, as the priest moved to the altar, and
the Mass began.
Through the people who waited without ran a shudder of joy-
ful awe, like the shudder that runs over a great field of wheat, when
the first breeze of morning stirs. Through the doors which were
flung wide for the King, came the great silver crucifix, lifted on high,
followed by the white-robed choristers; then two tiny boys, each
bearing in his hand a basket of petals of all manner of flowers.
As they walked, they took the fragrant bloom in their hands and,
kissing it tenderly, cast it upon the ground, resigning it with love
to its glorious humiliation.
There were unbelievers among the bystanders, who murmured,
" Look at all those lovely rose petals ! Tom up and trampled in
the mud! There are scores of poor folk starving about us, and
these people, who profess to follow Christ, forsooth, let them starve,
while they scatter their roses broadcast." So they said among
themselves, and remembered not one of old, who asked, " To what
purpose is this waste ? "
Then, borne beneath a scarlet canopy surmounted with silver
bells, came the Blessed Host, and the folk knelt on the bare ground
and bowed low as It passed. And the old hjrmn rose and fell upon
the breeze, as the pageant went on its way.
Tantum ergo Sacramentum
Veneremur cemui,
Et antiquum documentum
Novo cedat ritui;
Pr<Bstet fides supplementum
Sensuum defectui.
1915.1 OUR LADY'S ROSES 359
So they passed away down the village street, and the singing
died in the distance. And there lay the petals upon which the
King had walked, soiled and crushed, yet proud in death. And a
wind passed over the place, and carried them away, and the tide of
human traffic covered their memory, and Corpus Christi and its
great rite was done for that year.
The great St. Michael knelt before Our Blessed Lady with a
tender lovely rosebud in his hand.
" Accept this creature of God, O Queen of Heaven," he said,
" for she hath done Thy Son good service this day."
Then came also and knelt the Angel Gabriel, bearing in his hand
a beauteous rose full-blown.
" Accept also this, her sister," he said, " for her love and good
will were exceeding great, and she hath borne bitterness of exceed-
ing great sorrow."
And Our Blessed Lady bent down, and took them both with
great tenderness, and laid them upon her breast.
And I doubt not, dear reader, that one day you shall see them
there, sweeter and more fragrant than ever they were on earth.
6ALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH.
BY F. A. PALMIERI.
^HE terrific war which to-day lays waste the most
civilized nations of Europe, and marks a dire return
to the cruelties of ancient barbarism, will no doubt
result in the political reconstruction of the entire
map of Europe. Nations which had almost attained
supremacy in the struggle for the enlargement of their own fron-
tiers, or the development of their commercial expansion, now seem
doomed to a fatal and rapid decay — even to national disruption.
Other nations, on the contrary, which lay crippled in their vital^
functions, are now shaking off their torpor, playing a new role in
the theatre of the world's history, and, by their unbidden and power-
ful cooperation, are preparing to give a new impulse and a new
alignment to the political life of Europe.
It is needless to point out that this radical evolution in the
ethnical elements of European peoples, this political whirlpool which
changes the face of the whole Old World, will be followed by no less
important shifting of scenes among the religious forces of the
belligerent nations. Political interests are generally so entangled
with the religious life of a nation as to affect the religious field
when new political settlements come to alter the ordinary cotu^se of
life. And this assertion is the more convincing when we consider
that the religious bodies of some of those nations, which hope for
an advancement in their material fortunes after the present war,
deserve to be regarded more as political than as religious institutions.
We allude to the western Orthodox Churches, whose past and
present history makes it clear that they are very often but servile
instruments in the hands of the political rulers.
As far as we can foresee, the present war, while weakening the
spirit of international fellowship in the heart of European Prot-
Non. — Orthodoxy means, of course, the Russian Schismatic Church ; Catho-
lic Church means the Catholic Church, that is, the Church whose head is the
Bishop of Rome, the successor of St Peter; Uniat, a Church in union with
the See of Rome, but privileged to use a rite other than the Latin. — [Ed. C W.]
1915] GALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH 361
estantism, will mark a rush of Orthodox Christianity into the secular
fiefs p{ the Catholic Church. The long-buried Byzantine Empire
appears to be emerging from its tomb, and perhaps will play again
a leading part in the history of mankind. A powerful, gifted, and
prolific race is anxious to reach the heights which it deserves by
reason of its genius, its numbers, its glorious and magnificent past.
The Slavic race, which covers a large part of our globe, yearns for
a release from the darkness of its mediaeval life, for a broadening
of its, until now, very limited horizon. And, if we are not mis-
taken, the most powerful representative of the Slavic races, Russia,
will enter the lists as a champion of Orthodox claims, and in the
newly-conquered countries will raise the banner of the Orthodox
Church. And, we need scarcely add, there is no comer in the
wide world where the Orthodox Church holds sway, in which there
does not flourish a spirit of antagonism to the Catholic Church.
The fatal advance of the Orthodox Church will occtu* simulta-
neously on the northern and southern frontiers of the Catho-
lic Church in Europe. Russians, Servians, and Greeks with
one accord will attempt to break into dominions either dependent
upon the Catholic Church, or upon which the Catholic Church
exerts a living influence. What result will follow from this inva-
sion of Greek and Slavic Orthodoxy into countries imbued with the
spirit of Western civilization and Roman Catholicism? I may
say in the beginning that I am firmly convinced of the necessity,
and even the possibility, of the reunion of Christendom. But so
consoling a conviction need not blind one to actualities, nor should
optimism conceal or underestimate the impending dangers which
are threatening our Holy Church.
In my opinion, any enlargement of the frontiers of both Slavic
and Greek Orthodoxy means for the Catholic Church a step back-
ward from the positions it has held, sometimes at the cost of heroic
sacrifices. The triumph of the Slavic races, far from giving it a
new element to be smelted in its crucible, would surround it with a
row of iron stakes, to check its energies in other directions.
I am aware that the prophet of evil finds no favor with persons
of optimistic vision. Yet, on the o.cean of faith, prudent sailors
ought not to sleep in the cheerful vision of a perpetually lasting
calmness of sea and radiance of sky. They ought also to foresee
the dark clouds and wild waves of dreadful tempests which may
either hurt or even dash to pieces their vessel. And, in a moment
when interests so vitally important to the future of Catholicism
362 GALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH [June,
are at stake, it is a question of prudence, in my opinion, not to avoid
the prospect, but to face squarely the dangers with which the
advance of the Slavs is fraught
II.
From the northern part of Europe the invasion of the Ortiio-
dox Church upon the domain of the Catholic Church, wffl be
attempted under the powerful influence of the Russian &npire. In
all likelihood, Galicia will be the theatre of a hard strug^e between
Greek and Latin Churches, between Greek and Latin rites ; between
the rigid traditionalism of the Byzantine spirit, and the vital ex-
pansion of Western Christendom.
At the very moment of writing, Galicia, one of the largest
dependencies of the Austrian Empire, has been wasted and ex-
hausted by stubborn fighting between the Russian and the Austrian
armies. But if, as we foresee, it will never be given up to the
dynasty of the Habsburgs, on its soil still moist with the blood
of battles, political war will be followed at once by religious strife.
Galicia has an area of thirty thousand three hundred square
miles and a population of seven million five hundred thousand.
But, as is the case with all the states incorporated in the Austrian
Empire, the population is a medley of various races embittered, one
against the other, by a secular hatred, both political and religious.
There are, perhaps, one million Jews in Galicia; the remaining
population consists of one-half Poles and one-half Ruthenians.
The Poles are mostly crowded together in big towns, and in Western
Galicia, the capital of which, Cracow, is for them the sanctuary of
their miserably dismembered country. Ruthenians, on the con-
trary, are gathered in villages and rural towns of Eastern Galicia,
whose area is twice as extensive as that of Western Galicia. Both
Russian diplomacy and Russian Orthodox clergy claim Eastern
Galicia as a territory torn by violence from the Russian Orthodox
Church. These claims, it must be admitted, are not without founda-
tion. In former times, the Ruthenians of Galicia were fervent
adherents of the Orthodox Faith. Lemberg, the capital of Eastern
Galicia, had become the seat of an Orthodox confraternity which
played an important role in the history of the struggle to suitress
Latin propaganda in Russia. Nevertheless, the Union of Brest
(1595) led a large Ruthenian quota into the pale of the Catholic
Church. A famous Bull issued by Clement VIII. allowed the
1915] GALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH 363
Ruthenian clergy to preserve their rites, their liturgical tongue,
the marriage of priests, and to be organized, as is the Latin Church,
into distinct dioceses. These privileges granted by the Pope were
confirmed on several occasions by Polish kings.
But, sad to confess, the Latin clergy in Poland did not, at the
banning, realize the future importance of the Union of Brest.
Their hostility toward the democratic flock of Ruthenian people was
attended with the saddest consequences. It was especially the fault
of the Latin clergy that the Ruthenian Uniat Church sunk to the
lowest ebb. Bishop Likovski, of Posen, an eager Polish patriot,
recognizes openly that, by her behavior to Uniat Ruthenians, un-
happy Poland has dug her own grave.
Latin bishops did not spare their confreres of the Greek rite
humiliations and wranglings. Ruthenian clergy were regarded by
Polish priests as schismatic, and they were commonly designated by
the name of popes. Ruthenian priests were oUiged to pay tithes
to Latin bishops; Jews became the lease^holders of Ruthenian
churches; higher education was forbidden to the children of Ruthe-
nian priests ; Ruthenian nobility adopted the Latin rite, the Polish
language, Polish manners, and, so to speak, the Polish soul. Thus,
the mass of the Ruthenian people were at once deprived of their
natural leaders, both civil and ecclesiastical. It is not strange, there-
fore, that die true principle of Catholic unity had but a weak hold
in the hearts of the great body of the Ruthenian people.
It would be sufficient to peruse the learned and authoritative
volumes of Likovski and Malinovsky concerning the tragic fate
of the Union of Brest, in order to comprehend the painful undoing
of this union of churches, the failure of which had been predicted
by Catholic leaders at the very outset.
This spirit of antagonism between the Ruthenian and Polish
clergy, separated from each other only by different rites, and not by
doctrine, gradually severed from the Catholic Church a large num-
ber of Uniat Ruthenians, especially among those who aimed at a
national resurrection and a literary revival of their own race. By
a natural blending, the political hatred embittering Ruthenians
against Poles in Galicia became closely connected with a deeply-
rooted sentiment of distrust with r^;ard to the Catholic Church.
The conviction grew stronger among Ruthenian leaders that the
Union of Brest was to be regarded as a political stratagem of
Polish diplomacy, aiming at the enslavement of the Ruthenian
people by the aristocracy of Poland
364 GALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH [June,
This state of mind has been in recent times of profit to Russia,
who has never ceased to long for the possession of Galicia — 2l gem
stolen from her crown. A Russian propaganda in this province
was full of dangers for its agents, because Austrian policy was
ever watchful of any attempt toward a separatist movement on the
part of the Ruthenians subject to Austrian rule. Therefore, Rus-
sian diplomacy called to its aid the Russian clergy, and sought to give
to its political claims a religious complexion. It began to sub-
sidize newspapers, which, under the mask of patriotism, continually
reminded the Ruthenians that the glory of their past lay in the
Orthodox Chtu*ch. The Prikarpatskaia Rtis, one of these news-
papers, was, in the fullest sense of the word, a militant Orthodox
organ, dipping its pen into gall whenever there was question in its
columns of the Ruthenian Uniat Church. Likewise, the Galicianin,
a paper widely circulated in Galicia, written in Russian, delivered
the fiercest attacks against the Ruthenian Uniat clergy. Through
the cotu*se of several years, the above-named papers nursed a large
part of the Ruthenian youth of Galicia in sentiments either of
hatred toward Austrian rulers and Polish hegemony, or of distrust
of the Uniat Church and the Uniat clergy.
It must also be stated that in the ranks of the Uniat clergy of
Galicia, Russian diplomacy did find, on several occasions, the ablest
agents of its pan-Slavistic dreams. The Uniat Church in Galicia
comprises the archbishopric and metropole of Lemberg (Lvov
Leopolis), with a population of 1,456,209; and the dioceses of
Przemysl (1,126,113), and Stanislau (925,943). The whole
Ruthenian Church numbers 1,873 parishes and 3,000 priests.
But, imfortimately, the Ruthenian Uniat clergy is lacking in
cohesion, in common aspirations, in what is called esprit de corps.
It has been inoculated with the germ of political ambition. It is
divided into two very distinct parties, which are called, respectively,
the party of Moscalophiles and the party of Ukrainophiles. The first
party is made up of those priests who firmly believe that either
ethnographically or philologically their own nation does not differ
a whit from the Russian people, and that the Ruthenian dialect
will never attain the dignity of a literary language. They write
papers and books in the Russian language; they yield politically
to the Great Mother, to Russia; they aspire to sweep the Poles from
the coimtry of their forefathers. They disparage Latin culture
as a pernicious element frittering away the vigorous unity of their
race; it is their ambition to be Slavs, because Slavism is the great
1915.I GALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH 365
force of the coming age, the soul of a new world to be settled in
Europe upon the scattered ruins of the dying Latin races. From
this it by no means follows that the Moscalophile Uniat clergy has
severed the bond of union with the Catholic Chtu*ch. The majority
know very well that in the past, however keen-sighted and well-
informed the Popes were as to the pitiable state of the Ruthenian
Church in Galicia, they could not interfere with the political ambi-
tions of the Polish kings. They are conscious also of the many
favors granted at diflFerent times by the Holy See to the Ruthenian
people. But whatever may be the sentiments of gratitude and
loyalty of the greater number of these Ruthenian Uniat priests
toward Rome, it remains true that they are working in the furrow
delved by Russian diplomacy; that a certain number of these priests
have ttu*ned their backs upon Catholicism and become Orthodox;
that some of them, in our own day, are fostering a movement
which, unfortunately, may sweep Ruthenians out of the Catholic
fold.
Ukrainophile Ruthenian priests do not favor the prospect of
an onward march of Russian autocracy into Austrian Galicia. They
gave and are still giving their best energies to awaken in Ruthe-
nian hearts the consciousness of their Ruthenian origin ; they labor
to preserve the Ruthenian dialect and Ruthenian culttu*e, and
dream of a political revival for their country that would gather
all Ruthenians under the same flag.
Ukrainophile priests are well disposed towards Austria, to
whom they are indebted for the progress made in Galicia, rather than
to Russia, whose policy of absorption* would check the nationalist
movement among Ruthenians, and level all the ethnical differences
of a race to which it refuses the right of an autonomous existence.
But, according to Polish opinion, it will be impossible to erect a
barrier that will stand against the onward sweep of Orthodoxy
into Galicia, and the tdtimate annexation of the tottering Ruthenian
Church.
As a matter of fact, the Ukrainophiles have imbibed the old
antipathy of Ruthenian nationalists towards the Latin Church, upon
which they throw the responsibility for the heavy calamities endured
by their people through the cotu-se of three centuries. Some Polish
priests, as Mohl and Borowicz, in a series of widely-circulated
pamphlets, declared three years ago that Galicia is the crater of a
latent schism, which would btu-st out at the first signal from Russia.
We do not echo such forebodings ; but it is nevertheless my convic-
366 GALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH [June,
tion that he errs grievously who does not anticipate evil in the
day when Galicia hangs out Russian banners.
To what have the twelve million Ruthenian Uniats been re-
duced, who since the dismemberment of Poland have been bleeding
under the Russian yoke? Alas! every means has been employed
by the Russian leaders to turn them to the Orthodox faith. By
wiles, by violence, by imprisonment, by death, Catherine II., Nicho-
las I., and Alexander III. succeeded in giving the Ruthenian Church
the finishing stroke. The same methods, no doubt, will be applied
to the last fragments of the Ruthenian Uniat Church.
Russian diplomacy, as is well known, proceeds cautiously,
slowly, in its Russification policy. It does not favor the rapid suc-
cess, the sudden conquest, that has no stable foundation. Rather by
the force of inertia it reaches its goal. And no doubt such a policy
impressed, as it were, on the hearts of Russian rulers, will slowly
transmute Eastern Galicia into an Orthodox state.
The Polish-looking capital of this province, the beautiful and
industrious city of Lemberg, is already a Russian town. Polish
civil authorities who ruled Lemberg at the time of its occupation
by the Russian army, heard from "the lips of Coimt Bobrinski, ap-
pointed by the Tsar as the Governor of Galicia, that the conquered
city was foredoomed to adopt the Russian language, Russian cus-
toms, Russian ideals, in a word, to be animated with a Russian soul.
One of the first acts of the Russian conquerors in Galicia
was the banishment of the venerable head of the Ruthenian Uniat
Church, Count Andrew Sceptycki, the Metropolitan of Lemberg.
It is currently reported that Count Sceptycki has been interned in
Siberia. I have the honor of being an old and personal friend of
the venerable prelate, the most eager and convinced apostle of the
union of chtu-ches at the present time; a Maecenas of the new Ruthe-
nian culttu-e; a leader of both the religious and literary awakening
of his flock; a priest devoted until death to the Catholic Church.
Thus, the Uniat Church in Galicia has been widowed of its pastor
in the most trying period of its history. More than once, in the
colunms of the Cerkovnyia Viedomosti, the official organ of the
Holy Governing Synod, we have read violent diatribes against Count
Sceptycki, whom Russians hate cordially as a man who has con-
tributed greatly to the strengthening of the Ukrainophile party, and
the consequent disruption of the ethnical compactness of the Rus-
sian body.
But Russian conquerors of Galicia have not confined themselves
1915] GALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH 367
to tearing Count Sceptycki from his flock. The imposing dwelling
of the Ruthenian metropolitans, which towers over the city of
Lemberg, has become the residence of an Orthodox bishop. All
the literary and artistic treasures accumulated in this magnificent
palace by the venerable prelate, the precious documents stored in its
archives, have been seized. Thus a large part of the historical life
of the Ruthenian Uniat Qiurch has fallen into Russian hands. The
new ecclesiastical ruler of the Cathedral of St. George (the cathe-
dral church of the Ruthenian Uniat metropolitans) will very soon
claim for himself the supreme direction of the Ruthenian Uniat
Church. And, perhaps, a great many Ruthenians, who have lost
touch with the Roman spirit and heartily hate the Poles, will lend
the Russian government a helping hand.
I know by experience, having lived some months in Gralida,
that there is, of a certainty, a Ruthenian Uniat Church, but there
is not a very strong Roman spirit implanted in Ruthenian hearts.
To explain this unhappy fact it must be remembered that the histor-
ical literature of the Uniat Church is replete with data and recol-
lections of a nature to alienate Ruthenians from the Latin Church,
rather than to bind them to it. Both Moscalophiles and Ukraino-
philes look upon the Latin Church as an ancient foe, and no doubt
this feeling of distrust and disaffection will be turned to profit by
Russian pioneers of the Orthodox Church in Galicia. So also, polit-
ical war in Galicia will be followed by religious war, and Russian
conquests will spread out simultaneously in the religious field. Thus
a nation of four million Catholics is in imminent danger of being
forced out of the Catholic fold, to fill the ranks of Russian Ortho-
doxy.
Should our dire forebodings be realized, Russia will erect new
barriers to the expansion of Catholicism. And it must be admitted
that the onrush of Russian Orthodoxy into the heart of Europe
will bring ruin to other than the Ruthenian Church. The most
cultivated of the Slavic race, the Bohemians, will find themselves
in close touch with Russian Orthodoxy; and it is unnecessary to
remind ourselves that many of the Bohemians are tainted by anti-
clericalism.
As Ruthenians hate Poles, so Bohemians hate Germans, and
from this hatred springs the sympathy of Bohemian leaders for the
politics of pan-Slavism. I dare not say that Russian influence in
Bohemia will be able to undermine the Catholic ground. But, on
the other hand, it remains true that during the latter half of the
368 GALICIA AND THE RUSSIAN CHURCH [June,
nineteenth century, Bohemian settlements in Russia, numbering
more than fifty thousand souls, turned over to Orthodoxy. We are
far from thinking that Bohemia will lose her traditional faith,
inherited from long lines of ancestors ; but it would not be a para-
doxical saying to assert that the outgrowth of Russian influence in
Galicia will ultimately result in a slackening of the bonds which unite
this nation to the Holy See.
From what we have hitherto set forth, it by no means follows
that the new positions held by Orthodoxy on Russian frontiers
have inflicted a mortal wound upon the Catholic Church in those
regions. Certainly the clouds of war are gathering on the horizon.
But perhaps heavier perils are to be faced on the southern frontiers,
where Servia, Greece, and Roumania are on the verge of a political
renaissance.
Of these dangers we may speak at another time. However
sad may be our fears. Catholic souls devoted to their Church ought
not to be disquieted. As we learn from history, when the wild
waves of social cataclysms are about to overwhelm the Bark of
Peter, the Divine Lord comes, saying: "O ye of little faith."
He commands the winds and the sea, and then' comes a great calm.
*< CALIFORNIA THE WONDERFUL,''
BY THOMAS WALSH.
I NDER the expressive title of California the Wonder-
ful, Mr. Edwin Markham has produced a new book,
which is of special interest to all who have at heart
the history, romance, and inspiration of " The Land
of the Padres." From the dawn of history these
far worlds of the Pacific seem to have evoked the spirit of rhap-
sody; their very name was first spoken by Garcia de Montalvo in
1510 in The Deeds of the Most Valiant Knight Esplanadian, the Son
of Amadis the Gaul, where California is " a wonderful island on the
right hand of the Indies, an island rich in pearls and gold, and
very close to the terrestrial paradise," so that to-day it seems
highly appropriate that the greatest of our American poets shotdd
celebrate the year of the Panama Exposition with an historical,
descriptive prose-poem worthy of so romantic a land and so great
an event.
We are fortunate in finding eloquent interpreters of our pioneer
days. Mr. Markham, among his other distinctions, is the supreme
master of epithet in American letters ; in his California the Wonder-
fid he touches names and places with a phrase or word that will
abide with them as long as there is love of land and home. He
touches nothing that he does not leave more beautiful. Speaking
of the Valley of the Sacramento, he gives us this characteristic
tableau : " In the beginning it was only a scented, irised, lark-loud
garden of bees and flowers for the Indian, and the bear, and the
bee now it is changed into the pleasant places of orchard and
vineyard and home. Flaming Tokays and purple Malagas have
pushed away the wild fox-grapes, and walnuts and almonds have
displaced the acorn crops of the live-oaks Berries may be
picked nearly all the year; melons thrive as under Syrian skies."
Of the San Joaquin Valley he speaks thus with evident emo-
tion: " This is the bounteous Nile Valley of California. The sky-
hung Sierran wall on the east feeds it from its everlasting snows."
Again and again we have touches of this descriptive rhapsody:
"To get the eagle's vision of these slopes and vales, climb Mount
Diabolo or Mount Tamalpais near the centre of the State. Tamal-
voL. a.— 24
370 ''CALIFORNIA THE WONDERFUL'' [June,
pais, stained with 'the dusty purple of the grape,' bounds up from
the ocean level and looks down on San Francisco Sonoma,
Napa, Ukiah, these and many another lovely name fall on the ear
like the splash of water in the silver stream Here in Sonoma,
the curved 'valley of the moon,' was begun the last of the Spanish
Missions In Napa rises the noble St. Helena, made dear by its
inviolable loveliness and by the memory of Stevenson's Starlit
Night," Mr. Markham's large volume is jeweled and illuminated
with a store of such picturings and suggestions.
When we come to his chapter on " California in the Abyss of
the Ancient Ages," it is interesting to find him discarding the
evolutionary theory regarding the origin of the Indian tribes. The
traditions of the Golden and Silver Ages are strong upon him, and
he repeats the legends of the Toltec and Aztec with a charm they
have never had. before. While these poets' ethnological theories
may still be classed among the interesting plausibilities of our early
history, when Mr. Markman comes to deal with Indian life of the
historical periods, especially with the personal observations of his
own early life in California, we find material, the value of which
can hardly be over-estimated.
Some of us, acknowledging a special interest in "The Romance
of the Old Missions," may be over-ready to feel some slackening of
the rhapsodical note. Mr. Markman's tribute to the Friars is frank
and sincere. He shows clearly that they were the real colonizers
and pioneers of the Coast; he spares no word in his appreciation
of Las Casas as the " Apostle of the Indians," who fought the
mammon-mad slavers, and is " one of the noblest souls of all time."
Mr. Markham is also generous in his treatment of Fray Junipero
Serra. When, however, he quotes the verses of the present writer:
You lashed your shoulders, and to blazing torches
Laid bare your breast to make " the brutes " t)elieve, etc.,
as a text upon which to hang his own peculiar views on hell and
religion and law, he seems to miss not only the writer's intent, but
the very purpose of Fray Jtmipero, which was far from desiring
to give his Indian congregations any exhibition of infernal tor-
ments, but was with clear intent to show, when reasoning could not
reach them, that he himself was honest and believed, and bore
witness to what he taught them. " He had love in his heart," says
Mr. Markham, " love the great miracle, love that finds in brotherly
1915.1 "CALIFORNIA THE WONDERFUL'* 371
service the root meaning of all creeds." How could there have
been any narrowness or intellectual bondage in this rare old philos-
opher and professor of the University of La Palma, whose noble
correspondence has been preserved for us. In the words of our
brilliant young poet George Stirling :
Flaming audacious heart so long in dust,
Who in an age of infamy and gold
Saw souls alone.
The lesson of the Missions abides ; they stretch down the length
of California like lovely rivets in the burial casket of the Spanish
friars; their names are a musical litany through her guide-books
and time-tables. Far back in 1902 the gracious Charles Warren
Stoddard recounted their story in broken half-whimsical metres
that Mr. Markham has overlooked :
In the far south the sunny San Di^o,
Carmelo, San Antonio, each their way go —
Dust unto dust, so crumbles the adobS.
Within one year sprang up San Luis Obispo,
With San Antonio, and San Gabriel ;
After five years of struggle, San Francisco,
And San Juan Capistrano — it is well
To pause a little now and then, if so be
Thou gainest strength : good works rush not pell-mell.
Santa Qara and San Buenaventura,
Santa Barbara and Purisima
And darling Santa Cruz — santisimal —
Next Soledad, and then a pause secura.
Six years to gather strength, when San Jose
And San Miguel and shortly San Fernando
Were bom within a twelvemonth ; what can man do
Better than this? And the San Luis Rey
Qosed a long period of years eleven —
Friars and neophytes were going to heaven
At such a rate ! — ^but the good work progressed ;
San Juan Bautista closed a century blest.
Santa Inez and fair San Rafael
Lead to the final eflfort in Solano; —
Twas thus the Missions rose and thus they fell —
Perchance a solitary boy-soprano.
Last of his race, was left the tale to tell.
372 "CALIFORNIA THE WONDERFUL'' [June,
Ring, gentle Angelas I ring in my dream.
But wake me not, for I would rather seem
To live the life they lived who've slumbered long
Beneath their fallen altars, than to waken
And find their sanctuaries forsaken;
God grant their memory may survive in song!
None that reads Mr. Markham's lordly presentation of his
California, its beauty of form and climate, its romantic story, its
mountains, valleys, plains, and cities with their varied pioneer popu-
lations, will fail to accord the gift of prophecy to Mr. Edgar Saltus
when he declares: "The new Renaissance will come, and come
probably here in this Italy of the Occident, which, profuse in all
things else, might just as well be prolific in genius, and which, too,
by reason of its freedom from cant and prejudice, is the only fit
ntu*sery for these exceptional beings, whose filiation is as enigmatic
as the stars and who, like them, charm the world." Mr. Markham
gives, in his own person, as well as in the masterly summary of his
book, a striking picture of the genius of California that is already
to the fore. The greatest living singer of the Coast, Miss Ina
Coolbirth, declares: there are
Upon her brows the leaves of olive boughs.
And in her arms a dove ;
And the great hills are pure, undesecrate,
White with their snows untrod.
And mighty with the presence of their God I
And yet it may be questioned whether the most luscious and
fragrant regions of the world have generally been blessed with the
finest productivity of genius; art, and poetry in particular, seems
to die of inanition amid the loveliness of Naples and Andalusia, of
Sicily and Portugal. These seem to be regions of the eye and
heart; it is to the regions of the soul that we look for the purest
manifestations of life and art. The eflFect of climate upon the
California poets already is noticeable; indeed, her greatest masters
seem to prove their need and desire for the discipline of bleaker
shores and higher peaks of age and tradition, and wisely fare
throughout the world to seek it. The cosmopolitanism of Califor-
nia is the basis of her splendid achievement in the arts, as it seems
to the many who love and greatly admire her.
WHITE EAGLE.
BY L. P. DECONDUN.
III.
Chelsea, Tuesday, February, 191 3.
I O you know, my dearest, that I woke up in the middle
of last night with a feeling of terror which I could
not analyze? I had been dreaming about you, and
about the last note you sent me before your boat
started. How I had been longing for it, and yet how
its arrival had cut me, as with a knife I
Well, in my sleep, I was reading it over again, and I was still
torn between gladness and sorrow, when I thought a loud voice called
me. Abruptly I sat up, wide awake, one burning thought shooting
across my brain: "Were you in danger?" My heart was beating
like a sledge hammer! If it was so, what could be done? Nothing
but prayer could avail, I knew — and oh, Rex, how I did pray!
What must this nameless terror be, if it comes suddenly to anyone who
neither knows God nor believes in Him? It must be maddening; be-
cause to call it imagination, whether it is or not, is of no earthly use.
I tried it myself, it does not help; while prayer, however incoherent,
links one swiftly to Infinite Power. It was an hour and a half though
before I could sleep again.
This morning I felt better, but still anxious enough to long to
mention the case to somebody. It was foolish perhaps; however
Madame Dubois had come up for some orders, and there and then
she had to become my confidante. She listened very seriously to my
tale, but when I added that it came probably from over-fatigue or in-
digestion she shook her head with scorn.
" Of course," she remarked, ** madame may be right ; it may come
from bad digestion or fatigue, but in my opinion there's One Who
allows that fatigue to put us in such a state. And if I were asked
I would say that if Providence allowed me to be warned, it would be
in order that I should help myself precisely as madame did." And
she nodded emphatically.
I had felt beforehand, I admit, that her point of view on these
matters would coincide with mine; nevertheless, her answer was a
comfort. Would you have believed that I could be so childish? And
this is not all. As soon as I went downstairs I could not refrain from
telephoning and making sure that no bad news had been heard in
374 WHITE EAGLE [June,
London about your ship ; then I felt so relieved and thankful that for
a few minutes I ceased to be conscious of the silent misery of your
absence. Oh ! how I called down blessings on Marconi I
But now that this weight of fear is removed from me, I am coming
back to Max's difficulties. My last letters to you have been so much
taken up with other subjects, that I almost forget how much I told you
in them. I only know that I gave you further details about the Polish
girl whom Mrs. Marchmont produced, as if by magic, at her last
musical evening. That night, before leaving, I had wished to speak
to Millicent, but she had then so many other irons in the fire that it
was useless to expect a coherent explanation from her about anything
in particular.
It was only the next day, before luncheon, that she rang me iqp on
the telephone to inquire about my opinion on the success of her tour
de force. Had not her Polish friend turned out to be a trump card?
I told her that perhaps it was the case, but that I had only a vague
notion of what she had done, and of what she intended to do.
" Why I " she called out (and her voice rang at the other end of
the line), "have you not heard that I sent my invitation to Mrs.
Camberwell in a private note, telling her that I had discovered a capital
parti for Max, an heiress, very good-looking, with splendid connec-
tions, etc., etc., adding that, from what I could judge, Max seemed
undoubtedly attracted by her?"
" I cannot imagine that this would specially impress Mrs. Camber-
well. She knows her son too well."
"That is what you fancy!" exclaimed Millicent (her voice
sounded triumphant) ; " but this is where you are wrong. You are
overrating Mrs. Camberwell's cleverness. Why! she came, and saw
at once that, sweet as she is, Joan could not hold her own very long
against a girl like Mary&u"
" She would with Max, though."
" Nonsense, my dear. Mrs. Camberwell understands men better
than you do. She recognized in a few minutes that if Joan were
eclipsed by Miss Lowinska, matters would only go frcmi bad to worse,
so far as her influence on Max is concerned. She might retain some
hold on him in spite of Joan, but she would not have the ghost of a
chance with Maryiia. Do you follow me? "
"I do ; still I refuse to believe that she accepted your invitation
from any other motive than because it suited her."
"Absurd I She came to inspect my Polish beauty at dose
quarters, and judge whether she was a danger or not Certainly she
realized that I had not exaggerated the girl's attraction, and she will
reflect about it."
" At least, that is what you suppose."
"What did you say?"
1915-1 IVHITE EAGLE 375
" I said—"
" Don't speak too loud, it makes the wire vibrate so."
" I — said — ^that — ^you supposed you had frightened Mrs. Camber-
well by placing such a perfection of a girl in Max's way."
" That is precisely what I did."
** Are you quite sure? "
'' Certain. Besides, the instant she set eyes on Maryfia she made
up her mind to stand by Joan. A blind man would have seen that.
And after the opportunity I gave fier of observing Max and Miss
Lowindca talking together rather earnestly, I guessed she would soon
work on different lines."
" Did you bring Joan to her? "
'' Not at all ; only near enough to be found if wanted."
" But what will you do next? "
''Keep it up until Max and Joan are married. It is simplicity
itself. It will come off by Easter."
" I hope so."
" Nemo, you are ridiculous."
" But what about your Polish friend, supposing she fell in love
with Max?" I heard Millicent's amused laugh.
"You need not trouble about that; my Polish friend is proof
against even better men than Max. So now good-bye."
" Good-bye."
There was a click afar off, and I replaced the receiver.
Of course Millicent might be right after all. This tangle, as she
said, might be far simpler than we thought. Besides, harum-scarum
brains like the Marchmonts' occasionally hit the right nail on the head.
Time would show. And I was leisurely closing the door of your study
when the telephone began to ring again. This time it was Max.
Should I be at home after three that afternoon?
" No, I should not."
" Was I dining at home ? "
" Yes, I was ;" he could come and dine with me if he liked. He
was sorry he could not; but might he call afterwards; say at nine
o'clock. I told him he could. Then he asked if I should be alone,
and I told him that Nancy would be here. That, however, he did not
mind in the least. So the arrangement was made.
Nancy and I dined together, but so long as the servants were in
the room we could only speak on indifferent topics, and no sooner had
the coffee been brought into the library where we had elected to sit,
than a prolonged ring at the door told us of Max's arrival. Then we
heard him running up several steps at a time, and there he was, big
and radiant and excited. So much so indeed that, when he came
straight to me, his hand extended, I put mine behind my back.
" One moment, my dear boy," I said, " I have no objection to
376 WHITE EAGLE [June,
shake hands with you, but first I want to make sure that you remember
it is my hand which you will grasp, not the handle of a sword with
which to exterminate your enemies/'
He smiled, his contagious, boyish smile.
" Nemo, this is too bad. Did I ever hurt you before? "
" Yes," I answered teasingly, " when I had rings on."
" I am sorry. What if I promise to take your hand as gently as if
it was that of — **
" Oh 1 in that case," said I, wickedly cutting his sentence, " I have
nodiing to fear; here it is." And both Nancy and I laughed.
("What do you think, but the dear, simple fellow actually
blushed.")
" You know," he said looking at us, half-provoked, half-amused,
" I did not intend to say that at all."
** It remains to ascertain what you mean by 'that'," remarked
Nancy with affected seriousness.
*' Oh, very well ! " he answered with a grin. " Have it your own
way. I am no good at arguing with women as I know to my cost — so
there I " He turned and drew a chair near us.
" Now," he asked, "shall I tell you ,everything? "
" One moment," I interposed ; " let us dispose of the coffee so
as to have no interruption."
There was a silent assent, but never was coffee dispatched so
rapidly; and the eagerness with which Max seized our cups to re-
place them on the tray would have made a careful housekeeper tremble
for her china. After this we settled cosily near the fire. True, for a
short minute my eyes wandered around the dear room where you and I
have spent so many lazy, happy evenings, but I only stifled a sigh and
prepared myself to listen. Nancy was almost more impatient to hear
Max than he was himself to speak, and she began to question him. I
wish you had seen the light coming in the dear fellow's eyes ; then he
cleared his throat.
" Well," he b^;an, " you both know my mother well enough not
to be astonished at most things; but she never opened her lips about
Joan or any one else until I met her to-day, by pure chance, in the
conservatory, before luncheon. We had come home together last night,
we had breakfasted together this morning, I had dawdled purposely over
the papers before going out ; but I might as well have expected our old
Persian cat to refer to the subject in our minds. I was so disgusted
that It was a series of circumstances rather than my will which brought
me back to luncheon. However, whether the Mater was expecting me
or not, I can't say ; only she received me in quite a cheerful manner,
made me fill her watering can once or twice, finished a few odd little
jobs, and then calmly sat down in her basket-chair. Mind you, when
she did that and looked at me, I felt stupidly uncomfortable. I almost
1915] WHITE EAGLE 377
wished I had not come back. 'Well ! my dear Max/ she began without
the least preamble, 'let us talk business; we have still ten minutes
before us. I take it for granted that you have definitely made up your
mind to marry. Is that so?*
" Now," went on poor Max, looking from Nancy to me, " you
could have knocked me down with the famous 'feather' which is
credited to do that sort of business. It was such an extraordinary way
for her to begin, considering what has passed between us for the last
sixteen months, that it made me feel like an idiot. Naturally, I
answered that it was time, or something to that effect, and she nodded
with a smile of approval, asking point blank whether my mind was
also made up about my choice of a wife. It was just like a comedy ; I
felt more and more at a disadvantage. You can see that? "
'! I can," said Nancy firmly. " No one better."
" Besides I guessed that there was a trap somewhere. If I hinted
so soon that I hoped to marry Miss Lx)winska, she would have thought
our tactics too clumsy to deserve notice; and if I confessed that I
still wanted Joan, the rest was useless. I had to avoid conmiitting
myself. Well ! I decided to tell her that Joan had lately been talked
to by her people, about the foolishness of waiting for a man who could
not make up his own mind. I added that even if I took a final step
and proposed to her now, it was possible that I might get a refusal.
I stopped, but she only waited with that expectant expression of hers
which almost forces people to say more than they intended and give
themselves away; however this time I was on my guard. Nothing
would have induced me to play the 'Lowinska card' at that moment,
though you could have cut the silence with a hatchet At the end she
spoke: 'If this is so,' she said, 'you had better see Joan and terminate
this business as soon as possible.' I could have jumped for joy, but I
kept stem as a judge. 'Very well !' I began, 'if you wish it.' She rose
slowly and smiled with that desperately gracious irony that makes
people foolish instead of savage. 'My dear boy,' she observed, 7
(with strong emphasis) never objected in principle to your marriage
with Joan. If I have hesitated to countenance it before this, it is
because I feared, rightly or wrongly (the irony deepened terribly
here), that you might at a later period find somebody (the word
stood carved out) even more congenial to you than she. Since there
is no danger of this, why you may please yourself as soon as you wish.
Joan is a dear child.' And she walked straight to the dining-room
where luncheon was ready. Now, what do you say to that? "
Nancy clapped her hands : " I say well done, Mrs. Camberwell ;
that is the proper way to cover one's retreat, if — " She hesitated.
"If what?" I asked.
" If it is a retreat at all." We three looked at each other.
" Oh! Nancy," I exclaimed after a second of reflection; " this is
378 IVHITE EAGLE [June,
really foolish. To listen to your perpetual suspicions would make any-
one believe we were dealing not with a woman of the twentieth
century, but with an arch-Machiavelli."
" We are," snapped Nancy.
" Ridiculous."
'' Not in the least ; Mrs. Camberwell is the cleverest woman I
know; cool, proud and dignified by race and upbringing; and under-
neath all that as jealous as any French mother, which, my dears, beats
the jealousy of an Italian wife hollow."
" OhI I say, Nancy! " (from Max).
" I don't exaggerate in the least. If your mother was French, and
believed you had fallen in love, you might have to put up with scenes
and tears and recriminations for a variable period, according to her
temperament ; then she would tire of it and give in by d^^ees. Here
it won't be that. Since your father's death you have become the pivot
of her life, and she won't give you up to anyone any more than she
can help. Up to this she has used common-sense advice, made odd or
cutting remarks, and, without moving perceptibly, she has paralyzed
your actions. She has kept Joan at arm's length as eflFectively with
gracious words as with vague coolness, and made the girl thoroughly
unhappy until last night, when — "
" That's it," interrupted Max, " now that she is afraid of some-
thing worse, she is giving in."
" She is not; she is only changii^ her tactics."
"Oh! Nancy," I said, "I am losing patience with you. She
knows Very well that Max must marry some day."
" That's not her point; she won't object to his marrying. What
she will refuse to do is to give up the first place in his life and af-
fections."
"But," interposed Max, "that is precisely what she will come
to lose, if she makes my existence unbearable."
" I am not so sure ; it remains to be seen."
Silence fell for a few moments. We felt uncertain and worried.
Then Max spoke again.
" At any rate," he began, " she is now willing that I should many
Joan. Nobody can deny that."
I looked up from the fire which Nancy had been poking absently.
Her intelligent, thoughtful face, calm and grave at that moment, im-
pressed me more than I cared to admit. She was so convinced of
what she said. She lifted her eyes slowly.
" Well ! my good friends," she said, " all I wish is that you may be
right and I wrong; only I cannot believe that Mrs. Camberwell has
given up to-day what she prized yesterday, any more than I credit
the possibility of her walking with her eyes shut into such a visible
net as that spread before her by Millicent. I fear she is far too keen-
1915] WHITE EAGLE 379
sighted for that If she is caught in it, it will be with her good will,
and therefore it will fit into her plans, not ours."
Do you know. Rex, when I heard Nancy speak like that, it brought
so vividly before me the pathetic face of poor Joan that I could find
no word against these arguments. Yet I was aware of the impression
of discouragement and doubt falling on Max; he had come to us so
hopeful, poor fellow. Happily Nancy b^;an to see this as well.
" Listen, good people," she observed after a moment; " I told you
all this because there is never any use in blindly keeping one's head
under one's wing like an ostrich. Forewarned is forearmed, but it need
not necessarily give us the. blues. We have good cards still, and we
must make the most of them. Once Max and Joan are married they
ought to be able to steer quietly their barge in the right direction."
That was evident enough, and Max's face cleared up a little.
" Yes," he said, " we will do anything in our power. Joan is so
patient and wise ; and she could be fond of mother too. They used to
be good friends years ago, and on the whole the Mater is a favorite
with lots of people. I don't know what there is about her, but when
she wishes it — " He shook his head and we all laughed.
" And again," went on Max, " Joan has consented to live in the old
home. All these things ought to smooth matters, don't you think? "
I had an idea that Nancy had frowned imperceptibly when hearing
this statement, but she nodded in answer. Then the door opened and
the maid brought in the last post.
My darling, do you think I can write down anything which
could make you understand what your *' foolishness " went through at
that moment? The silver salver was handed to her, and before
she had made a movement to take anything on it, her eyes had
fastened on a large square envelope, peeping from under the others.
She could see very little of the writing on it but, for all that, she knew,
she thoroughly knew I How did you succeed in getting this sent
oflF? The stamps were too blurred to let me ascertain where it had been
posted ; all I realized was the big flood of joy rising in my heart But
I could neither have opened your letter nor looked at it before any other
eyes. Instinctively, I covered it with several others, took the
whole bundle and placed it on the little table behind me. I did it
slowly, deliberately, my teeth almost clenched to steady the trembling
of my hand. My face was so cold that I conjectured I looked ghastly
and I kept it in the shadow.
" Well ! " said I, a second later, as if to resume our discussion.
"Don't you wish to open your letters?" suggested Nancy.
"No, thank you; they can wait."
By a strong effort I picked up the broken thread of our conver-
sation; but it was to little purpose. I spoke at random or fell into
silences. I merely caught disconnected remarks from the two others.
38o WHITE EAGLE [June,
and never did time drag so hopelessly. At last, they went. It was
only when I stood to shake hands with them that my face became
visible. Nancy noticed it at once.
" Is there anything the matter, dear? " she asked, ever kind and
affectionate; " you look so white! "
I laughed. " Nothing," said I ; " I have never felt better."
" You are tired anyhow ; don't sit up late."
But I promised nothing. As soon as I heard the door closing be-
hind them downstairs, I was back again at the fire, your beloved epistle
in my hands. I knelt and thanked God as one can do only at such
times. Then, my heart hammering in my throat, I tore open the en-
velope, and a mist prevented me from seeing any more than the blue
stamp of the note paper: a life belt with a twisted rope and a
flag I I do not know how long I stayed there reading over and
over the same loving sentences, my heart so full that tears would have
been the greatest relief — ^but I can so seldom cry, my own Rex I
Besides, pain was so much mingled with this great joy that I knew
it would take days before I could look at this bold writing of yours
without a knife cutting through me. I wished I could have fallen
asleep there and then, until pain and joy would have died down, and
let me take back the uniform steady life which I am little by little
making for myself. That I can bear, but it will take me time to bring
myself to receive your beloved missives calmly. At this very instant I
could not tell whether I long for or dread most, the coming of the next
one.
Oh I Rex, I wonder if I can possibly be as dear to you as you are
to me! I almost pity you if I am.
IV.
Tuesday, March, 1913.
Before banning my epistle, my darling, I want to mention that
I received a note from John Brown about the Villa. He tells me that
something should be done at once to the roof of the veranda, and that
he does not like to take the responsibility of it without the master's
orders. Unfortunately, the " master " is too far away to see to this,
and John will have to be satisfied with the mistress' directions. If
the weather allows it, I will go to C. next week ; besides Devonshire
will not be very cold now I hope. After this, not another word about
business, because business has an odious way of pointing out that the
"Rex" of my little kingdom has been exiled; and I am not a pin-
point nearer to being reconciled to it.
Let me rather tell you that on Saturday last I had my first op-
portunity of speaking with Miss Lowinska. The two Stevenson girls
had come to take me to a private view of water colors, and we met
1915] WHITE EAGLE 381
there with an elderly lady in black, evidently a chaperon. She seemed
to know several artists and among them Willie R., our friend. Do
you remember his new studio in that quaint little street off the King's
Road, with the old-fashioned gardens and trees? He wanted me to
go and see the latest improvements he had made in it, but I refused
to fix a day. Then he begged of me to come with the Stevensons to a
little informal supper which he wished to give there next week ; that
also I declined. So nothing remained to him but to abuse me
soundly in that good-humored way of his; and when he was out of
breath we b^[an to chat sensibly. He is such a nice, clever fellow.
I cannot say that we spoke much about art; we went fairly quickly
through what was worth looking at; then our conversation drifted
by different channels to the same object: our "interest" (though not
in the same degree or for the same reason) in Miss Lowinska. It
did not take me long to see how things stood with Willie, and I was
Sony for him, dear fellow. I cannot see that he has a particle of a
chance in that direction. The girl, simple as she is, seems as high as
a star above the rest of us. So far as she is concerned, however, she
is all I fancied; even more so, if possible, as there is something
essentially pure and open on her smooth brow. Intellectually, she
stands her own, and without effort, with the cleverest; morally she
shows a tendency to truthfulness and candor which is a little startling.
Her manners are dignified; and she has a talent for exercising
" authority " which takes the breath away from most people. To siun
up, she is captivating; a perfect woman and yet a child (though she
is twenty- four). Add to this, that, like a Russian bred woman, she
speaks several languages with the utmost fluency, and you will have
before you, as well as I can paint her, " Maryna Lowinska."
Small wonder that Joan is not inclined to welcome her to our
circle. And yet, I am not so sure that Joan has not more of a cer-
tain winning charm even with men. Miss Lowinska looks to me better
fitted for a solitary pedestal than for everyday life. I can't imagine
her as a practical, effective wife; and, least of all, for dear Willie.
Yet, when we reached one of the furthest rooms of the exhibition,
where we found ourselves all but alone, he turned his back on the
pictures and faced me.
" Look here, Mrs. Camberwell," he said point blank, " you need
not pretend to be interested in these landscapes because you arc not;
your mind is not here. Much more likely it is at the other side of
the world this minute, and, though I am very rude to remark it, I ad-
mire you for it. But listen, will you render me a service? "
I smiled. Can anyone be angry at Willie's bluntness?
" If I am able, with pleasure."
"Then come and play hostess this afternoon in my studio. I
want to ask the Stevenson girls and — ^and Miss Lowinska to have
382 WHITE EAGLE [June,
tea there. You have refused me before when I was unable to explain,
but perhaps you will do it now ? "
" I see. Why I certainly."
" Very well. That is kind, you know, because I understand per-
fectly that this sort of fun is not in your line for the present."
" This is nonsense."
" I am afraid not ; but I don't want to be rude again and con-
tradict you flatly. You don't mind my plain speaking do you? "
I had to laugh this time; but isn't tliat like Willie?
It did not take long to arrange the party; the Stevensons are
always ready to enjoy anything of that kind, and Miss Lowinska as-
sented at once.
You would scarcely have recognized Willie's studio. Some of his
latest purchases are particularly fine; he has bought some hang^ng^
of old damask and some rugs which you would long to steal from
him ; and as for some bits of " Bernard Palissy " that he has picked
up on a lucky day, they are beauties! The only thing out of place
there was a cumbersome piano which he is keeping for a friend ; but.
Rex dear, when, after a very merry tea, he persuaded Miss Lowinska
to sit before it, you would have pronounced it the best of ornaments.
It is not that the girl played anything so much out of the common
(Willie's extraordinary taste in music and his odd collection of pieces
gave her a limited choice), but what she played was like the breathing
of a soul through notes gliding under her fingers. Meyerbeer's
" Dance of the Shadows," the " Adieux " of Beethoven, the " Sehn-
sucht" of Queckenberg, a few things of Tchaikowsky and Burow
might have been entirely new to me. Willie sat spellbound, his eye-
brows twitching in an odd way as if they objected to the proximity
of his pince-nes; two of the other artists who had joined us were lean-
ing against the make-believe mantelpiece, forgetting that the heating
apparatus was precisely at the other end of the room ; yet, when the
girl stood up, there was no sign of consciousness about her. As for
Pattie Stevenson, she turned round to her sister and to me with an
expression implying a good deal.
So that, with all this before me, Joan's fears on one side, and
Nancy's forebodings on the other, I began to feel more grateful that
Max's engagement was now public property, and that tihe marriage
was to come oflF the first fortnight after Easter. Yet, I did like this
Polish girl. Once her great blue eyes look at you, you feel that she
has always been your friend, that you have known her from her baby-
hood, and that she has a right to count on you for almost everything.
And if you saw how quickly Pattie and Mab Stevenson have welcomed
her into their intimate circle, you would admit that she must be one
in a thousand. As it is, I have asked her and Mab for Thursday
evening. I wonder if she loses in bein^ better known.
1915] WHITE EAGLE 383
Monday Morning, March, 1913.
You see, my dearest, I am writing from C. where I arrived last
night, neither very cold nor very tired, but too lonely to dare to write
to you. A precious letter, dated from Port Said, had been handed to
me as I left home, and it was a ray of sunshine during the journey.
I felt, as if some way, it had brought you nearer; and when I had
read and re-read it, I found a crumb of comfort in keeping it in my
hand while the long stretch of country flew before my eyes. Rex, I
have grown astonishingly sentimental since you went. Are these two
words long enough to express my disgust of it? But disgusted or not
I cannot blind myself to the fact nor, perhaps, do I wish to. I re-
member my gentle sneers at others ; I even remember laughing at you
and teasing you about your " soft heart ; " so, I daresay, it is only just
that I should become a victim to the same weakness. But I must tell
what conclusion it made me draw. Either the people who show them-
selves so much above this " failing " are too selfish or cold-hearted to
yield to it; or — and I expect they are l^on — they have sufficient
strength of character or pride to hide it.
(Are you smiling and calling this woman's logic? Do you think
I am bringing forward this argument to shelter myself behind it?)
I have been interrupted, and had to go and interview the masons.
They think the repairs will take a week or ten days, as all through
the winter the rain was coming in badly through several parts of the
roof. Happily the weather is suitable now, and the workmen will be-
gin at once. I mean to stay here until they have done; I shall not
be sorry for the change, and I am glad to be alone for a little while.
When I had finished with the men, the sun was so bright that I
strolled towards the garden. A few daffodils were peeping through
the grass, and the wood was just veiled in a haze of the softest of
green and yellowish-red. I found the garden gate locked, but Brown
had seen me going in that direction, and was hurrying with the key.
Dear old man I He asked me if there was good news of the " master,"
if he intended to be back for the stunmer — (which gave me a miserable
little stab), also if the place where he had gone was very fine. I as-
sured him that no place could be as nice as our own, at which he
shook his head confidently as if this was as it should be. Then he
was delighted to hear about Master Max's marriage coming off soon ;
and did I remember how little Miss Joan always cut off the best
branches of his heliotrope trees in the greenhouses! Dear! dear! and
to think of her, almost a married woman already!
Would I like to see my rose beds? He had had them nicely
forked over, and well dressed with the " best of stuff," and a few loads
of wood ashes after the burning of the weeds. Would I care to prune
them myself? He had all my garden tools in thorough order in the
seed room. And did I remember the fruit trees the master pruned last
384 WHITE EAGLE [June,
year? Why they had not recovered yet. (Oh I Rex, if you had seen
his wicked grin!) Weill well I the master was such a grand man in
many ways that he could afford to be a bad gardener, but he was that:
a very bad gardener. And he repeated it with a suppressed chuckle,
full of affection, too, the dear fellow. Then he went for my basket and
gloves and secateur, and a bundle of raffia to tie up the branches.
I don't know that I was in a special mood for gardening, but
when he brought everything to my hand and looked so full of ex-
pectation, I felt unable to draw back, and began to touch up things
here and there. And then, without noticing it, I became so absorbed
cutting, bending, tying, that the little bell rang for my lunch before I
had realized that I was at work at all. The sun was quite warm, it
would soon become too trying to stay without a hat, so I gathered my
things to go back to the house. But as I turned I caught sight,
through the leafless wood, of the ruined wall above the quarry, and a
whole scene flashed before me. I saw you, my darling, and a little
group of our friends climbing the hill, under a burning July sun ; and
somebody suggesting the addition of long bracken to our hats to shade
our faces. Then we passed over that wall, and one side of it
crumbled so suddenly under my weight that it almost carried me down.
It required all your quickness to catch me in time, and when I was
on my feet again and able to see your face, you were ashamed of hav-
ing been frightened. I remember so well the tone of your voice:
" Hullo ! little Unicorn, specimens of your kind are too rare now to
risk breaking your neck; just look where you are going, will you!"
Oh I my dearest, all along the garden path to-day I could hear this
dear voice of yours, " Hello ! little Unicom I "
You see, this little comer of the world is so full of your presence !
But the earliest fronds of bracken are still too short to transform me
into a unicorn big or little.
Thursday Afternoon.
What do you think has taken up most of my time this morning,
dear ? You could never guess. I was helping to prepare the blue room
for your mother, who is coming on Saturday. I had a letter from her
last night, telling me that she was slightly tired and in need of a few
days' rest, if I would have her here, I wired at once that I should
expect her by the midday train, the day after to-morrow, but now that
all is ready I can't help surmising whether anything has happened.
Still I have received a long scribble from Nancy, telling me that
everything is going on well, and that both Max and Joan are thor-
oughly happy. Also that Mrs. Marchmont has taken Miss Lowinska
to Scotland for Easter. I tmst they will get some fine weather there ;
as that " Hermitage " of Millicent's is (to my mind) a perfect
abomination. The scenery may be beautiful, but the discomfort of
the house makes you dream of slow purgatory.
I9I5] WHITE EAGLE 385
Well, if poor Miss Lowinska does not know what it means to
*' rough it," she will learn there with a vengeance. Even the shape
of the house is awkward; it seems calculated to give the greatest
trouble to go from one room to another. As for the set of steps up
to the veranda, it would spell '' murder " at night under the slightest
provocation. And do you remember how far the roof has been made
to project? It may be for protection, as Millicent says, but it is the
sort of protection that one would get m a wooden box. So far as
light is concerned, by three o'clock on a summer afternoon the win*
dows are usekss ; what it must be on a gloomy, stormy day in March
I can't imagine. And this is precisely Nancy's opinion.
However, they are comic^ back directly after Easter. Millicent
being convinced, justly or not, that she has been the deus ex machma
of Max's marriage, intends to be at it and to enj(^ her triumph.
By the way, Nancy tells me that Miss Lowinska, apart from her
wealth, is quite a personage. Her father being the very Prince
Wladek Lowinski, so mixed up with the latest political movements in
Russia. It is quite interestii^.
Friday Evening.
I don't know, dear, what you will think of a disconnected letter
like this, but since I have been in this place I have felt, more or less,
nervous and restless. I am truly pleased about your mother's coming
visit, as solitude and retirement have given me none of the comfort I
expected; on the contrary, they seem to have brought back so many
ghosts of other happy years, that I miss you here more acutely than
anywhere else. It was so terribly lonely yesterday that I ordered
the trap and the old pony to go and see Father Langton. I was for-
tunate enot^ to find him at home, and he appeared genuinely pleased
to see me. I caught him working in his garden as usual, when he has
a free minute, and needless to say we went over it to see his new
treasures. Amoi^t these were some rose trees of which I took the
names, while in his tiny green house fiowered some prize auriculas and
American carnations which would have taken honors at any show.
When I remarked that these were, of their kind, either very late or
very early, he smiled in that knowing way of his, sayii^ that he knew
it very well, and was rather proud of his knowledge of the trade.
Then we went in to have some tea, and we b^^an to talk about
you, Rec Such a talk : up and down and across and sideways. As
Fadier Langton is such an old friend of us both, there is no need with
him to be prudent or reticent about anything; and that sort of con-
versation is a real rest and help. We also sp<dce of his poor people.
Some have been very ill; there were a good number of pneumonia
cases this year. I asked him to make me a list of the things most
needed for these, and he promised to let me know.
VOL. a.— «5
386 WHITE EAGLE [June,
I told him that I would stay here for a f ortnight, and that if there
was anything in which I could help him he was to let me know. And
I added, laughing, that since I had to put up with a whole year of
penance, I wanted to make the most of it and cram it full with good
deeds. He laughed heartily, and said he quite understood ; and when
I left him I felt wonderfully cheered up.
Ah me I how unexplainable facts are, after all. Ever since you went,
all your friends and mine have done their utmost to console me and help
me to bear your absence ; and all they succeeded in doing was to make
me put a mask on and appear to enjoy things, which either bored me or
left me totally indifferent And to-day, without the least affectation,
the least attempt at preaching, this wise old man, while a{^reciating
what I have felt, and still feel at present, looked on sorrow as such a
simple, normal, healthy thing, and on my sorrow as such an insignifi-
cant one compared with the crosses of others, that I drove back with
a comparatively Hght heart. What he had said, I could nqt repeat; it
was not contained in words. The healing power which had comforted
me came from his inner self, his nearness to God. It 'was as if he
were standing so much above my level that he could see at a distance,
and that his confidence that all would be well acted on me in the same
manner as the calm knowledge of a grown-up person acts on a fright-
ened child. One short sentence of his echoed now and again in my
memory. It was his reply to a remark of mine.
" To be sure, my child, to be sure; so long as what confronts us
is clearly God's will, nothing else signifies, does it? And the best of
this is that, in your case, there is no room for doubt and therefore no
need to trouble."
" No need to trouble" — ^that was just it! The thorn was there,
as deeply in the flesh as ever, but if the wisest thing was to leave it
alone instead of uselessly irritating the wound, what then? The evi-
dent, sensible course to follow was to use all my energy for other pur-
poses. And in the keener evening air I let the pony gallop to its
heart's content. There was not even a hen on the road, nothing but
hazy low hills and brown stretches of moors, and a darkening sky
with grayish moody clouds. As I came nearer the sea, the wind be-
came sharper; the waves were flecked here and there with little
touches of white ; but there was not a boat or sea bird to be seen at
that moment I seemed lost in this immense space, helpless in this
apparent isolation, yet strangely confident that I was not alone either
physically or spiritually. Only, I was conscious of being so small in
it all, so out of proportion with it, that I felt relieved when, turning
into the avenue, I caught sight of the lit-up windows of the drawing-
room. And then, my Ranald, the sweetest of surprises was await-
ing me.
As soon as I came in, Mary told me that a little r^^tered package
19151 WHITE EAGLE 387
had come, and that she had signed the paper; but nothing crossed my
mind, and I leisurely went up stairs to take of my coat There, I
positively dawdled; decided that I might as well change my dress,
since dinner could not be far off, but at last I went downstairs. The
little box stood on the Louis XV. table; near it was a telegram which
I opened first It was from your mother; she would take a later
train and would be with me for dinner. Then I turned to the package.
I did not know the writing, nor the address of the jeweler. Neither
could I remember having left anything in this line to be mended any-
where. At long last I opened the box, unrolled the tissue paper,
pressed the spring of a small ring case, and oh! Rex dearest, there
was the very facsimile of my lost opal I
Do you know that I stood at the little table perfectly motionless,
the tears welling up into my eyes, a big lump in my throat I Oh I it is
not only t^ecause, before going, you have bought it for me, nor be-
cause I am so wonderfully fond of opals — thou^ I prefer them to any
other stone — ^but because your own heart could alone have matched it
so perfectly from memory. At that instant I could again hear your
voice when you gave me the original one.
" I bought you this," you had said teasingly, " because it is the
picture of your true self. See how blue and milky and innocent it
looks under this greenish-gray shadow; and yet, my lady fair, there
is a very naughty little red light in it It is the little red light which
gives you away, do you see?"
" To everybody? " I asked. But you laughed, my Rex, and looked
at me in that provoking way of yours.
" No, madame," you said, " no, not by long odds. The deceived
world takes you for a lamb." And there was more of that absurd
nonsensical talk of ours I We were so happy then. The first few
times I wore it, how, like a big schoolboy, you enjoyed asking at any
opportunity whether the " red light " had been " turned on."
I suppose you alone knew how I regretted my poor ring the day
it slipped from my finger; but I had never hoped to find one so ab-
solutely similar. While I am looking at it, this instant, I could almost
swear that it is the same; the same greenish-gray overlaying the
brilliant blue, the same angry dart of vivid fire shooting through it at
almost any angle ! Oh I Regfinald dearest, now that I am wearing it,
it almost feels as if your hand were stretched across to mine; and
when my eyes meet it inadvertently it is as if they met yours, though
much too rapidly to hold them.
Rex I my Rex I little Dubois has just brought in your cable. You
are safe and well, thank God I but I can write no more to-night You
seem so far, so fart
[to be continued.]
Hew Boobe.
POEM& By Robert Hugh Benson. New York: P. J. Kenedy &
Sons. 75 cents.
Those who have known Father Benson as preacher, noirdist,
spiritual director, pla)rwright, and apologist will welcome with gratis
tude, but not with sinprise, this Kttle posthumous rolume of his
poems. To a nature of such intensity and concentration the poetic
utterance was well-nigh inevitable. Inevitable, too, perhaps, was
the presence in his poetry of the selfsame spiritual forces which
had dominated and impelled his other works for God and man.
The pa^ts of this present book are " saturate " — ^to borrow one of
his own characteristic words — ^with religious emotion.
It is also their distinction to be probably more vividly personal
than any of his other literary work. Not, indeed, at all moments:
his charming and archaic Christmas Carol is twin-sister to those
which many a modem Catholic poet has given us. The translations
and devotional pieces are often quite in the usual matter and manner
of worthy religious verse. But there are other poems in which
the note is vibratingly individual and Bensonian : such are Visions
of the Night, lines of really striking phrasing and pageantry; or
Hero Worship or The Priest's Lament, or the proud, thunderous
tragedy of Savonarola Moriturus.
Divine union: the cost of it all — the terrible pain and the half-
terrible sweetness: this was the burden of Benson's soul, and the
burden which in these slight pages he cast into song. How worthily,
for life and for letters, the music was wrought may be g^uessed
from two fragments. The first is that haunting second stanza oi
the Savonarola soliloquy :
" Faint heart, poor soul," do they say, " to recant at a pain.
To repent at the turn of a screw f"
Ah, I ask pardon of God again and again.
And pardon from you I
Can the brain balance and weigh when the sinews are rent,
Is there room but for agony there?
What if the lips have lied, did the heart consent
In that night of despair?
Slow rocked the rafters above as I bKnked in my pain
With the tears and the sweat in my eyes ;
Tom was my heart on the rack, and entangled my brain;
Is there cause for surprise?
I9I5-1 ff^W BOOKS 389
It is well that close beside this sensitive strain of htonan suf-
fering should ring the companion strain of his dual music: the
serenitj of God's " pleasaunces," where the tired sotd lies for a
moment dreaming quietly in His sight :
Ah, dear Saviour, human-wise,
I yearn to pierce all mysteries.
To catch Thine Hands and see Thine Eyes
When evening sounds begin.
There, in Thy white Robe, Thou wilt wait .
At dusk beside some orchard gate.
And smile to see me come so late,
And, smiling, call me in 1
Not late but early was it decreed that Robert Hu|^ B^ison
should fare forth to meet his Master; nor by any " orchard gate "
in the &iglish countryside he loved so well, but rather from the
strange presb)rterf of Salford Cathedral. Does one doubt any the
more the divine, swift radiance of his welcome?
Because they are one expression of a great and vital soul, these
poems will be prized. It is their good fortune to carry with than
an inimitable introductory note by Mr. Wilfrid Meynell, and an
appendix reprinting Canon Sharrock's story of Monsignor Benson's
last days.
THE UNFOLDIITG OF THE LITTLE FLOWER. By the Very
Rev. William M» Cunningham, V.F. With a Preface by His
Eminence Cardinal Gasquet. New York: P. J. Kenedy &
Sons. $1.25.
Much has been written of late on Sister Teresa of the Chiki
Jesus, and her remarkable autobiography, whidi is now so widely
known, has twice been translated into English. This volume, how-
ever, presents the first complete study of her life in English.
Misapprehensions as to the character of her sanctity have
arisen in certain qtmrters, and it has been the object of Uie writer
throughout to prove that Teresa's "little way" is that same
" narrow way " trodden by the feet of God's chosen ones in every
age, and that the luminous, child-like sanctity of the little Carmelite
nun was not that of a petted, pious child, but one of the sinq)le
heroism of Christ's most rugged warriors.
" In her writings," he says, " Sister Teresa speaks often of
treading the path of spiritual childhood, as being a description
390 NEW BOOKS [June,
of the way of sanctity in which she was led, and many, with our
English preconception of the meaning of 'childhood,' not noticing
the emphasis on the word spiritual, and misled by her sublime
humility and unconsciousness, have fallen into the error of thinking
of her as having lived out her life while still remaining a child in
mind, and of imagining that her way of sanctity was, therefore,
a path of ease and freedom from effort, instead of being, as it really
was, the divesting herself of every possible thing this earth held
dear for her, so that she brought herself and her wants down to the
level of an infant, who knows and cares not for aught but the actual
minimum of food and warmth needful for supporting existence.
Thus, the way of childhood meant for her a way of ceaseless cruci-
fixion, nay, almost of annihilation of self from the beginning to
the end of life. No wonder now she works miracles ! "
But though " the sanctity of the Angd of Lisieux was no
new-fkshioned, ease-loving, way to heaven," her mind was essen-
tially modem, and the problems which confronted her were the prob-
lems of the modem mind. This, together with the charm and lov-
ableness of her personality, to which Father Cunningham has given
ample tribute, should sufficiently recommend this latest English
study of her life.
THE BLACK CARDINAL. By John Talbot Smith. New York:
The Champlain Press. $1.25.
Many novelists write their best story first, and then labor in
vain for years to surpass, even equal, their first work. Father
John Talbot Smith, on the contrary, has kept his best wine to the
last. His latest book, The Black Cardinal, is unquestionably his
best.
The story centres arotmd Cardinal G)nsalvi, Pius VII. 's cour-
ageous, loyal, and far-sighted Prime Minister, who not only defends
the rights of the Church against the dishonest and immoral Napo-
leon, but incidentally maintains against him the validity of Miss
Patterson's marriage with Jerome Bonaparte, and saves his ambi-
tious, weak-kneed brother from dishonor and min.
In a few lines Father Smith sketches for us a number of
perfect portraits of the men who made history in Church and State
during the first years of the nineteenth century in France : Napoleon,
bmtal, egotistic and imscrupulous ; Pius VII., well-meaning, con-
scientious, but weak; the subservient Cardinal Fesch giving his
Emperor nephew the advice he desired ; Fouche, the most dishonest
1915-1 NEfy BOOKS 391
scoundrel who ever served a prince; Jerome Bonaparte, good-
natured, sentimental, but without character or honor; Betty Patter-
son, bright, vivacious, ambitious, and thoroughly lovable.
The author sustains our interest from the first page to the last.
He entertains and at the same time instructs his readers without
making his novel a mere long-winded moral tractate. Non-Catho-
lics will learn from these pages to appreciate the Church's strong
stand for the validity of the marriage bond. Napoleon, with all
his power, could not make the Church invalidate the marriage of
Jerome with Miss Patterson, a Protestant, although every possible
influence was brought to bear upon the Pope. A novel of this type
is a better apology for the Church than many a scholarly work of
controversy.
AN INTRODUCTIOir TO TH£ STUDY OF GOVERNMENT. By
Lucius Hudson Holt, Ph.D. New York : The Macmillan Co.
$2.00 net.
This book is not an expounding of theories nor a study of
the government of the United States; it is an ^exposition of the
general principles of government now operating in the foremost
states in the world. The study is thorough and detailed, and was
written, the author states, to supply a lack which he himself dis-
covered when trying to find a similar book for his personal use.
It is, therefore, of unique value to the student, and its publication
is timely, in view of the pronounced changes which the present war
must bring. Moreover, it is so well and lucidly written that it is
capable of rousing the lethargic interest of readers who have
hitherto been content to accept government as interpreted by politics ;
and it may be suggested that it might be highly useful to the very
many women upon whom the duties of citizenship may be suddenly
thrust by the adoption of the suffrage. They will be able to save
themselves expenditure of time and labor in research by consulting
this voliune of reference and explanation.
ORIGINS AND DESTINY OF IMPERIAL BRITAIN. By J. A!
Cramb. New York : E. P. Button & Co. $1.50 net.
Some months ago Professor Cramb's lectures on Germany
and England were published, and ran into several editions. At the
time the present reviewer did little more than give a brief synopsis
of the work, though he added that there were some things in it that
a Catholic could not accept. But now that the reading public is
392 NEW BOOKS [Jrnic,
favored with the present volume, he feels that he must break his rule
about " war books " and utter a note of disapproval. The philos-
ophy underlying both these productions is decidedly unwholesome,
and, if taken as representing the attitude of mind of the average
Englishman, is likely to alienate sympathy from his cause. Great
Britain professes to have entered this war in defence of right and
the maintenance of international good faith. One does not notice
such sentiments shining out very strongly in Professor Cramb's
writings. On the contrary, he seems to be of the school of Bem-
hardi, with the advantage of an eloquent style. It would seem to
the present reviewer that those in this country who are trying to
arouse sympathy for the Germans, have a powerful ally in the late
London professor; those whose sympathies are on the other side
had better disown him, if they do not want him to prove what
Bernhardi has proved to be for the nation whom so many have
taken him to represent.
LITERATURE FOR CHILDREN. By Orton Lowe, Assistant
Superintendent of the Allegheny County^ Pennsylvania, PuMic
Schools. New York : The Macmillan Co. 90 cents net.
As this book is addressed to public school teachers by one in
authority, it is encouraging to find that the title exactly expresses
the author's intention, which is to urge that children's reading-
matter shall consist of true literature instead of the low-grade,
vacuous material so frequently furnished. He presents with earn-
estness and with a strong argument for cultivation of the imagina-
tion as essential to the well-being of both individuals and nations, and
gives practical suggestions in regard to the methods by which a cor-
rect and enduring taste in literature may be inculcated. An anthology
of over a hundred poems is suiq)lied; also an extensive biblio-
graphical list for children and young people in which few, if any,
omissions or substitutions would commend themselves, and none on
the ground of literary quality, for all are of the best. The book
is well worth the attention of many readers other than those for
whom it is primarily intended.
HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, FROM THE RENAIS-
SANCE TO THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By Rev. James
MacCaffrey. Two Vols. St. Louis : B. Herder. $3,50 net
About five years ago Dr. MacCaflFrey published a history of
the Church covering the period from the beginning of the French
1915.I NEIV BOOKS 393
Revolution to the rupture of the Gmcordat of 1801, and the success
of the book was such as to justify a second edition in two years.
This has encouraged him to complete the treatment of the whole
period generally denominated " modem " by putting forth the pres-
ent work, which in character and external appearance resembles
its predecessor.
Those who have read and admired the earlier book will not be
disappointed in this one; and one who has himself been engaged in
the task of lecturing in history will not be slow to recognize in Dr.
MacCaffrey's manner of presenting his subject precisely those
methods that would be developed by practical experience of the
needs of intelligent students. In works of this kind one does not
look for novel views or strikingly original theories, but for complete-
ness and clearness of presentation, which qualities are well to the
front here. Even in such portions of the book as deal with sut>-
jects other than purely narrative, as, e. g., the diapter on the causes
of the Reformation, or the general state of Ireland in the early six-
teenth century, there is an almost mathematical precision and ar-
rangement, which, however it may detract from literary value, will
be welcome to those who wish to use the book as a basis for further
study or as a text for lecturing. For either purpose it is admirably
adapted. And we would add a special word of praise for the
eminently sensible bibliographies prefixed to eadi chapter. They
contain just the names one would reasonably expect to find there,
and nothing that ought not to be available in any good library.
A MAHtJAL OP CHURCH HISTORY. By 1^. X. Funk. Trans-
lated from the German by P. Percibolli, D.D., and edited by
W. H. Kent, O.S.C. Two volumes. New York: Beniiger
Brothers. $5.50.
Four years ago Kegan Paul of London published an English
translation by Dr. Cappadelta of Dr. Funk's Manual, which was
based on the fifth German edition. The learned Professor of Eccle-
siastical History at Tubingen did his utmost to meet the criticisms of
his work, which some thought ultra-liberal, by a number of careful
revisions. Four years after his death. Dr. Bihhneyer, his successor
at Tiibingen, published a sixth edition, vdiich he brought up to date
and supplemented by some hundred pages.
We were disappointed that in the volume before us Dr.
Perciballi has paid no attention to the late revisions of either Dr.
Funk or Dr. Bihlmeyer, but, on the contrary, has made use of an
394 NEW BOOKS [June,
edition which is older than the one used by Dr. Cappadelta. This
is all the more unpardonable, because Dr. Perciballi's Italian trans-
lation of some twelve years ago was excluded from the Italian
seminaries by Pius X.'s Pontifical Commission.
The present edition is well printed, but it pays little or no at-
tention to the history of the ChiU'ch in English-speaking coimtries,
refers chiefly to German books in its bibliography, and contains a
number of mistranslations, and some mistakes in dates. We are
sadly in need of a good textbook in Church history which will do
justice to the Church in the United States.
CARRANZA AND MEXICO. By Carlo de Fomaro. New York :
Mitchell Kennerley. $1.25 net.
The spirit of the Mexican Constitutionalists who have been
fighting for liberty the past few years along the progressive and
enlightened path of rapine, murder and lust, is well set forth in the
present volume. The author meant to write a bull of canonization
of Carranza, but, without knowing it, he has in his stupidity shown
forth to any thinking man the utter insanity of placing the supreme
power of a country in the hands of bandits like Zapata and Villa, or
imctuous phrase-making h)rpocrites like Carranza.
The Mexican Revolution takes as its model, he tells us, the
French Revolution with its hatred of the priests and the aristocrats-
Of course it " does not want to destroy religion," but the " clergy
must be eradicated as noxious weeds from a field before cultiva-
tion." The Bishops of both Mexico and the United States are
called to task for their sympathy with wealthy " reactionaries," and
are urged to be silent about such trifles as the torturing and murder-
ing of Christian Brothers and Priests, the outraging of nuns, the
imprisonment and exile of bishops and clergy, the looting of banks,
stores, and haciendas.
The hero Villa, who has dared question the honesty of Carranza
the Incorruptible, has now become a cruel, t3rrannical, unscrupulous,
immoral and illiterate thief and bandit, a prey to schemers and in-
triguers, a tool forsooth of the " reactionaries " in Mexico and the
United States. Our author loves the word reactionary, as the old
woman of legend the magic word Mesopotamia. Zapata is another
" illiterate tool of the schemers," who dared even to aspire to the pro-
visional Presidency.
Huerta, of course, is accused of murder without the slightest
evidence, and is called pretty names such as " the Avatar of greed,
19151 ^EJV BOOKS 395
lust and alcoholism, a moral hyena, a white-livered soldier pickled in
cognac, a mental baboon," etc. These epithets give one a good idea
of the author's style and the value of his criticisms.
THE VIERECE-CHESTERTON DEBATE ON WHETHER THE
CAUSE OF GERMANY OR THAT OF THE ALLIED
POWERS IS JUST. New York: The "Fatherland" Cor-
poration. ID cents.
This is the report of a debate between the editor of The New
Witness (Mr. Chesterton) and the editor of The Fatherland (Mr.
Viereck). The former, opening the discussion, presents the side
of the Allies. He places the immediate cause of the war in the
unjust and unreasonable demands of Austria upon Servia conse-
quent on the assassination of the Archduke. These demands he
characterizes as " a case of brutal indefensible aggression of a great
nation against a small." A second cause, he claims, was the pre-
cipitate action of Germany in declaring war on France and Russia,
and the wanton violation of Belgian neutrality. The maltreatment
of the Belgians after their rights had been violated was the third
cause.
Mr. Viereck claims that Germany is waging a defensive war,
for her own rights and in obedience to her plighted word to Austria.
Russia insulted and attacked Germany, and Germany struck back
in self-defence. England hypocritically pretended that the war was
one of aggression on the part of Germany. The violation of
Belgian neutrality was justified, because Belgium had con-
spired with France and England against Germany, and thus
Germany's action was only in accordance with the principle of
self-defence.
At the end Professor Shepherd, the chairman of the debate,
say he does not think that the cause of the war is identical with any
of the occasions mentioned. That must be sought for many years
back. Still he thinks that the things the speakers said were ex-
tremely interesting.
AUNT SARAH AND THE WAR— A TALE OF TRANSFORMA-
TIONS. London : Bums & Oates. 25 cents.
This charming little volume, full of pathos and humor, de-
scribes in a most vivid manner the many changes brought about in
England by the Great War. It consists of a number of bright
letters written by the self-centred Aunt Sarah, who becomes the
396 NEW BOOKS [Jvcat,
V
most charitable of souls ; her gallant nephew who teUs us stirring
stories of the front; and his sweetheart, who becomes a Red Cross
Nurse.
The writers of these letters quote continually from their favor-
ite authors, Francis Thompson, Coventry Patmore, G. K. Chester-
ton, Kattarine Tynan, and Thomas Hardy.
DANIEL WEBSTER. By Frederic Austin Ogg, Ph.D. Phila-
delphia: George W. Jacobs & Co. $1*25 net
As one of the series of American Crisis Biographies, this book
titiats its eminent subject almost entirely in the light of the public
man, though personal touches of character, appearance and habits
are not wholly lacking. Dr. Ogg has displajred much ^ill and
grasp in condensing into convenient space tiie momentous history
of Wdbster's time, and the incalculable importance of his part in
it Essentials are presented with darity, and enough detail is given
to impart continuity. The reader who wishes to possess himself
expeditiously of knowledge of the main facts and incidents, widi
an understanding of the attendant and contributory circumstatices,
will find this work highly satisfactory.
THE TRUE ULYSSES S* GRANT. By General Charles King.
Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co. $2.00.
Into a volume of less Aan four hundred pages. General King
has compressed a memoir covering every phase of the great soldier's
life, and packed with incident related with an animation that gives a
vivid freshness to the impressions conveyed. As the title implies,
it is the intimate and personal side of Grant which is the objective
point. At each stage of his life's journey his biographer traces the
traits and characteristics hidden under the reserve of " the silent
man of the nation." The art of the literary man is displayed in
the cleverness with which a miscellaneous mass of biographical
material is brought into orderly sequence, and facts so picturesquely
worded that they lose nothing by the brevity enjoined by limitations
of space. The craftsmanship of the novelist, also, is shown by the
skillful subordination of people and events to the centre of interest
on whom the reader's attention is always fixed. Especially in the
chapters on the Civil War, the canvas is crowded vrith figures,
Grant's associates, friends, and enemies all firmly sketched in dear
colors, all composing a moving backgrotmd for the dominant por-
trait of the great General, patient, generous and taciturn. There is
I91S.1 ^Ety BOOKS 357
power and paibos in tte condudiog^ pages, where the writer ascribes
to the silent man facing death in the retirement of Mt. McGregc^r,
while lahorinf to dear his name of all oUigationa, a greatness
beyond all that he achieved on the open batdefield
There is no denial or attempt at concealment of errors and
mishaps that have been at least sufficiently commented upon; the
author says merely that the fanks and mistakes were few, the
caltmmies many, and devotes his powers to bringing^ into rightful
prominence dungs more gratifying to dwell upon» more generally
ignored. Grant's truthfulness, honesty and justice, his incapacity
for intentionally or consciously wronging any man, his magnanim-
ity and humaneness, the purity of his domestic relations, and the
tenacity of his affection for family and friend, these do not rest
upon assertions by the author, but are estahli^ed by instances which
he records.
General King does not, like many biographers, regard his
work as a field for the exercise of sdf-restraint. His feeling for
his illustrious subject is enthusiasm, and he cypresses it with whole-
hearted warmth, increased no doubt by the sense of fellowship in
a common Akna Mater — ^West Point
The hook is a tribute of just and chivalrous loyalty to the
object oi the author's admiration ; widial, it has a quality of interest
that does not presuppose any on the part of the reader, and it may
very probably became the choice of those who are looking for a
biography that is compact, yet has the elements of comprehensive-
ntsSy veracity and entertainment.
ANGELA'S BUSIHESS, By Henry Sydnor Harrisai. Boston:
Houghton MifBin Co. $1.35 net
Henry Sydnor Harrison has so fully established himself in the
interest of his readers that his novels, still few in number, have
come to be an event in the field of fiction.
In the present story, the author has chosen for his theme
the " woman question " — ^the question eternal. Charles Garrott sets
out to discover the true " womanly woman.** He has all the naive
impenetrability of one who has fed on abstractions rather than
reality, and experience alone forces him to yield to a gradual pro-
cess of enlightenment This experience comes to him from two
directions so distinct that, Uke the famous parallel lines, they aeem
to have no point in common.
Mary Wing is the mdependeat young wonsan who carves her
398 NEW BOOKS [June,
own career, and whose capabilities have ah-eady cleared the path to
assured success. Angela, " her so different cousin," is that pretty,
appealing, selfish girl, who, paradoxically, is recognized as the
" home-maker " and the " womanly woman." The self-reliance of
Mary, the inefficiency of Angela, cause him to re-act with tantalizing
indecision from one to the other. Perplexed and disillusioned, at
last, Charles Garrott is on the verge of total discouragement, when,
in a flash of revelation, things take shape out of the mist.
Mary Wing — for the sake of her mother and of another — flings
away deliberately the golden opportunity of a career towards which
for many years every effort has been directed.
Positions are now reversed. Angela, who, in the meantime,
has succeeded in " snaring " a husband, sacrifices his career to her
selfish whim. Mary, the " Egoette," has shown herself as capable
of renimciation as of achievement, and the "wcunanly woman"
emerges before the startled eyes of Charles.
The book is both sane and just in its observations on the " new
woman." The advocate of free-love and the developed ego is
unsparingly condemned. Freedom, reflects Charies, towards the
last stage of his enlightenment, is not '* a thing that any chance
passer can pick up and use, like a cane " Nor does it consist
in flinging incense to one's personality, and the " call of the race."
It is " only too fatally easy to act free, at others' expense real
responsible freedom is having the ability and the desire and the fair
chance to do a thing — and then not to do it"
If, as a novel, Angela's Business cannot reach up to the stand-
ard of Mr. Harrison's previous works, either structtu^y or in its
delineation of character, it is, nevertheless, wholesome, thoughtful,
and amusing. Its purpose, moreover, is serious, and we cannot
help but feel that, under the apparent foam of the surface-breakers,
the author has given us an argimient carefully meditated and con-
vincingly advanced.
A BOOK OF ANSWERED PRATERS. By Olive Katherine Parr.
New York: Benziger Brothers. 45 cents net
A delightful anthology of graces is this latest slender volume
from the pen of Olive Katherine Parr, and one that will be of
interest to all who put faith in the efficacy of prayer. Too fre-
quently in the past such records have been treated in a manner so
strictly personal as to lose significance in the telling; here, on
the contrary, these "idylls," as Miss Parr has christened them.
I9I5-1 NEW BOOKS 399
though at times ahnost minutely personal, have retained their
flavor and their general application.
The author's personality and history impress themselves on the
clever and often amusing little narratives ; her spirit of faith is
contagious, and there are few who will not come away from the
book with a sense of refreshment and a firmer trust in that ex-
haustless treasure of the Christian soul — ^the open-sesame of prayer.
It is a pleasure to the reader, in turning the pages of the book,
to discover that the proceeds from Miss Parr's writings 4re devoted
to the continuance of Eucharistic worship in the little moorland
du^el of Venton, where " the prayers are prayed " — and answered.
ROMA. Ancient, Subterranean and Modem Rome in Word and
Picture. By Rev. Albert Kuhn, O.S.B. Parts VII., VIII.
New York: Benziger Brothers. 35 cents each.
In these two fascicules of Roma, Dr. Kuhn gives us a brief
history of the catacombs in general, and a brief sketch of the cata-
combs on the Via Salaria Nova (St Priscilla), the Via Nomentana
(St. Agnes), the Via Appia (St. Praetextatus, St Callixtus, St
Lucina), and the Via Ardeatina (St. Domitilla).
The many illustrations, plans and copies of inscriptions make
these volumes of special interest.
THE COPY-CAT AND OTHER STORIES. By Mary Wilkins
Freeman. New York: Harper & Brothers. $1.25 net
The stories picture New England of many years ago, with
all its pride, pretense, fanaticism, and meanness. Dear Annie, a
tale of a sordid home of a New England minister, might well be
used as a tract in favor of clerical celibacy. Noblesse is unnatural,
The Balking of Christopher imreal, and The Umbrella Man tire-
some. The stories of children, on the contrary, are inimitably done.
Even grown-ups will enjoy the antics of John Trumbull, " the cock
of the walk;" Arnold Carruth of the golden curls and baby stock-
ings; Lily Jennings, pert, conceited and resourceful, and the delight-
ful copy-cat, Amelia Wheeler.
JUST STORIES. By Gertrude M. O'Reilly. New York: The
Devin- Adair Co. $1.00 net.
In this volume the author shows herself competent for her
task. The stories it contains are proportioned by that subtle but
inevitable blending of pathos and humor that touches the deepest
400 NEW BOOKS JJuw^
well-springs of human feeling, and by that poetry of faith that gives
them freshness and significance. Her hand has lain lovingly on
the pulse of her people ; no pseudo^Irish have found their way into
these pages ; but the generous, clear-seeing, childlike Celt has been
set informally '' at home " in his own backgrotmd and among his
own hills.
The writer has, indeed, charmingly achieved the purpose out*
lined in her foreword : to '' bring the pleasant memory of home to
those who have wandered, struck perhaps with the 'fairy wisp*
of the pooka, and give some little glin^>se of Ireland to those who
have not had the joy of looking on her face."
THE NEW LAITY ASJ> THE OLD STANDARDS. By Humph-
rey J. Desmond. Philade^ia: John Joseph McVey. 50
cents net.
In these lay sermons the well-known editor of the Milwaukee
Citizen pleads for an intelligent Catholic laity, full of Catholic public
spirit and of civic patriotism, courageous in defending the Faith,
loyal to their leaders, doers as well as preachers of the truth. He
criticizes mildly at times the over-zeal in church building, which
taxes so severely the clergy's strength ; the reluctance of the Catho-
lic pulpit to insist on the principles of civil morality, and the over-
readiness of the wealthy Catholic snob to run after the society
of Protestants, and the like. The book is suggestive, well-written
and outspoken.
THE DOKS OF THE OLD PUEBLO. By Percival J. Cooney.
Chicago: Rand, McNally & Co. $1.35 net
We are happy to say that this novel paints the Spanish Amer-
icans of Old California as they were — brave, humane. Christian
gentlemen. When we can acknowledge and esteem peofde whose
ways and views differ from our own, for their virtues aiwi real
worth, we are surely progressist from ignorance to enlightenoatent.
In view of the present quickening of interest in Califomian matters,
this book ought to be a success. Done Jose is as fine a sample as
can be foimd of his class, and his noble forgiveness of his enemy
shows plainly that his religion is a very real and vital part of hmt
The romance of the beautiful Spaniard, Loreto, with a Carroll of
the old historic family of the Signer of the Declaration of Inde-
pendence, will be found quite absorbing enough for the most exact-
ing reader.
iQiSl NEW BOOKS 401
PERU, A LAND OF CONTRASTS. By MiUicent Todd. With
twenty- four full-page plates. Boston: Little, Brown & Co.
$2.00 net.
Peru falls naturally under three divisions — the Desert, the
Mountains, and the Jungle. Miss Todd, who spent some months as
a member of an astronomical expedition in the country, writes from
personal observation of the Peru of to-day; as a student she has
also consulted the chief authorities who have written of this most in-
teresting country. Contrast she asserts is Peru's characteristic qual-
ity, and from that viewpoint she writes her story. She speaks of the
tropical heat and the arctic cold ; the heavy poisonous jungle mists
and the thin air of the mountain tops ; of the scorching dryness of
the desert, and the reeking wet of the jimgle ; of a nation of slaves
in Inca days ruled by a monarch god ; of Oriental splendor shining
because of forced labor in dark, suffocating mines, and of the
poverty-stricken Indian of to-day in a land of wonderful resources.
Peru is considered from every viewpoint: historically, scien-
tifically, geographically. Our author tells us of the civilization and
religion of the Incas; the conquest by the Spaniards of the six-
teenth century; the monuments that remain of ancient cities and
temples, and the flora and fauna of the country. The book is well
written and beautifully illustrated.
SEVEN YEARS ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE. By Mrs. Hugh
Fraser and Hugh Crawford Eraser. New York : Dodd, Mead
& Co. $3.00 net
Mrs. Hugh Fraser and her youngest son, Hugh, have written
a most entertaining accotmt of their stay in northwestern Washing-
ton. The book is full of good stories, excellent character sketches,
strange experiences, accurate descriptions of life in the far West,
beautiful word pictures of mountains, forests and sky, and shrewd,
if not always accurate, comments on American diplomacy, corrupt
politics, prohibition, education and the like.
The authors apologize for the utter lack of order in their book,
saying : " If we seem to move backwards and forwards in this nar-
rative the reader must forgive us ; the memories crowd so hard upon
one another, that to arrange and order them would be a labor of
years." Both mother and son write as they would speak to us around
a winter's fireside, telling of their happy sojourn in " the true Re-
public of the West," and those quaint characters whose sayings, do-
ings, humor and habits defy all classification.
VOL. a. — 26
402 NEW BOOKS [June,
We are introduced to ignorant Methodist ministers, who look
like brigands and drive a stage in the intervals between marrying and
preaching ; we admire the canny horse-trader, Dick Mackenzie, of
hypnotic tongue and heart of gold ; we despise the cant and hypoc-
risy of the cold water army of fanatical temperance reformers ; we
smile at the politicians who accept the fake petitions of "the
moderates " with alacrity, although they know that many of the
names belong not to voters but " to hens and cayuses ;" we try in
vain to swallow some of the tallest stories ever ventured by even
an imaginative Westerner; we enjoy the portraits of the Peck-
sniffian Methodists and Baptists, " whose religion manifested itself
chiefly in denouncing their neighbor's sins."
Every American will enjoy this volume thoroughly even if he
deny that our educational system is nil, our Senate dishonest, our
yachting and athletic record a poor one. Prejudice will explain
many of these unjust strictures.
WESTMINSTER ABBEY. By Helen Marshall Pratt. Two vol-
umes. New York: Duffield & Co. $4.50.
The author's aim in these volumes has been, as she herself
says, to combine " most important and interesting facts concerning
the founding, establishment, and the architectural features of the
Abbey as they are understood to-day, and to present the conclusions
of the most reliable modem archaeologists, for the convenient use
of readers at home and of students of art and architecture."
We know of no better guide book on the history, architecture,
and monuments of Westminster Abbey. The writer brings out
clearly the influence of the thirty years' residence of Edward the
Confessor at the Norman Court, and the reasons which prompted
him to build the Norman Abbey Church at Westminster. She also
shows the spirit of the life and times of Henry III., and his reason
for building the present church. Not all the monuments are treated,
but only those names are included which loom up prominently in
English history, or are in some way connected with American
history.
CHIEF CONTEMPORARY DRAMATISTS. By Thomas H.
Dickinson, Professor of English in the University of Wis-
consin. Boston: Houghton Mifilin Co. $2.75 net
The substance of this volume is composed of the complete
text of twenty plays by authors of various nationalities, all the
1915] NEW BOOKS 403
plays, however, being in English. The editor's purpose, as ex-
plained in his preface, was " to provide within reasonable compass
a series of plays which would as nearly as possible represent the
abiding achievements of the present dramatic era." In this con-
nection the term " contemporary " denotes not the chronology of
productions of plays, but a mental affiliation with the distinctive
characteristics of the said era which may be roughly indexed by
such names as Galsworthy, Synge, Maeterlinck and Thomas. Pro-
fessor Dickinson has made his selections with good judgment The
book's usefulness is augmented by the appendix, which contains
notes and dates concerning the authors represented and their plays,
a reading list of contemporary drama, and a working book list
which will doubtless be a helpful guide to anyone about to venture
into the field of dramatic composition.
LYRICS OF A LAD. By Scharmel Iris. With a Preface by
Maurice Francis Egan. Chicago: Ralph Fletcher Seymour
Co. $i.oo.
That a new luminary has appeared in the firmament of Catholic
letters is evident from the artistic quality of these lyrics. The true
poetic nature reveals itself in the spontaneousness which Shelley
declared to be the necessary attribute of every poet.
" But star differeth from star in glory." If Francis Thompson
and Swinburne both commended the work of the young poet, there
are, in his verse, more points of contact with the latter than with the
large, sense-free, austerely impassioned art of the greater poet.
Mr. Iris is an Italian by birth, and the Latin temperament is
apparent in his poetry. The classic imagery, which has been so
totally discarded by contemporary poets, finds its way into his
poetical illustrations. But it is rather the classicism of the Ren-
aissance, in its later period, than of Greece. The Vision of Two
Lovers reminds one of a Venetian fresco of the Cinquecento. There
is the color, too, and the sensuousness of the Latin element in his
verse. We wonder what the critics of Tennyson's " bed of daffodil
sky " would say to the following stanza :
The daffodil is in the sky.
Upon the cloud, the rose ;
The violets enraptured lie
Along the evening glows.
If we feel a trifle overcome by scent and color, if an occasional
note of sentimentalism in his religious verse oppresses, we must
404 NEW BOOKS [Jane,
remember, as Mr. Eg^n tells us in the preface, that this garden
is " the little garden of a young poet."
In the following lines from Redtvinged Blackbird, the poet is
even more thoroughly himself, and altogether at his best :
Nay, none of these thou art, I own.
But an arpeggio shaken down
From Song's thick symphony of boughs.
Where all Night's lidded odors droose ;
A feathered arrow flaming, bright.
Shot past the startled glooms of night
The young poet's talent is still fresh and glowing, and there-
fore capable of vitalization and expansion. We shall look for work
of even more excellent stamp when maturity shall have set its seal
of experience on the vision and optimism of youth.
MRS. MARTIN'S MAN. By St John G. Irvine. New York : The
Macmillan Co. $1.35 net
Mr. Ervine's picture of home life in Protestant Ulster is a
sordid and disgusting tale of immorality, drunkenness, h5rpocrisy,
and the unchristian spirit of unforgiveness. No Catholic Home
Ruler could have written a more bitter diatribe on the alien popula-
tion of the North of Ireland than the author has done in these
clear-cut character sketches. If these sketches are true to life,
Ulster is utterly lacking in all that makes Catholic Ireland lovable
and winning— devotion, resignation, the sense of the supernatural,
purity and charity.
The novel tells us of the self-reliant Mrs. Martin, who accepts
without a murmur her husband's infidelity, keeps her home together
by her untiring energy during the years of his desertion, and then
receives him back again despite the great wrong he has knowingly
and deliberately done her. Her " man " is a brutal, ignorant,
drunken and licentious brute, whose only redeeming feature is his
love for his only daughter.
" Oily Willie," the Rev. Wm. Haveron, is the Ulster Presby-
terian minister, without humor, perception, tact or common sense,
but full of an exaggerated sense of his own importance.
Mrs. Martin's brother, Henry MahafFy, is an "obese flabby
hulk of tissue," having God ever on his lips, and bitterness and im-
forgiveness ever in his heart. His " religious " wife Jane is a
querulous, inquisitive, hard-hearted soul, envious, bitter of speech,
and gloating over scandal.
I9I5-) NEIV BOOKS 405
Her sister Esther, the most interesting character of the book,
when about to renew her immoral intimacy with her brother-in-law,
is deterred only by finding out that he has become a tramp.
Mr. Ervine tires us at times with his oft-recurring words : quaren,
sang, thole, cod, and rightly. To his mind they are peculiarly Ulster
Protestant
THE LONE STAR RANGER. By Zane Grey. New York:
Harper & BrotherSw $1.35 net.
The author of this stirring tale dedicates his book to Captam
John Hughes and his Texas Rangers, " who made the great Lone
Star State habitable, who never know peaceful rest and sleep, who
are passing, who surely will not be forgotten, and will some day
come to their own."
Budc Ehiane, the hero, is an outlaw like his father before him,
but not a vicious, drunken, immoral bandit like most of his fellows
in the early days of Texan history. He inherited from his father
"a driving intensity to kill," and of course could draw his gun
quicker than most men, and always reach his mark to a hair's
breadth. After killing his man in self-defence, but dreading the
prospect of an ordinary trial by jury, he takes to the wilds of Texas
to live the life of a hunted outlaw.
After many wonderful adventures— easily paralleled in real
h'fe, as the writer can vouch from unimpeachable evidence — ^he be-
comes a Texas Ranger, and devotes his days to breaking up the
thieving and murderous gangs of the border wild lands.
A good story to read when a man is tired out, for it will refresh
him. The characters are well drawn and the story well told. Oc-
casionally we find the hero acting on the theory that the end justifies
the means, but outlaws, detectives, and policemen are more apt to
act upon this immoral principle than the Jesuit of fable.
A BOOK OF COMMON VERSE. By Albert L. Berry. Chicago :
A. C. McQurg & Co. $1.25.
Much of the verse contained in this slim volume advances
dangerously near the boundary-line of prose. But the title disarms
criticism, and the contents are not pretentious. If there are lapses
of technique, the thought in many of the poems is of good quality and
not lacking in originality. Almost all of them are informed by a
religious feeling which is both earnest and poetical.
4o6 NEW BOOKS [June,
OH THE FIGHTING LINE. By Constance Smedley. New York:
G. P. Putnam's Sons. $1.35 net.
The author in a foreword tells us that the title of this book
had been chosen before the war broke out; also the fact that the
story does not in any way concern what has since become known
as " The Fighting Line." The heroine tells her story convincingly;
she is not a coward ; and can tell herself unpalatable truths. She
has to learn the bitter lesson that she is a mere cog in the wheels of a
vast money-making machine, and finally realizes in the words of the
Imitation, " How often have I not found faithfulness there where
I thought I might depend upon it! And how often have I there
found it where I the less expected it ! " One of her conclusions is :
" The only way to get anything accomplished appears to be to obey
blindly, to set up someone as an ideal and follow blindly." Not a
bad idea if the " someone " be a competent and infallible guide.
Her disillusions are many, and Divine Providence appears quite
unknown to her or her friends.
THE JUVENILE COURT AND THE COMMUNITY. By Thomas
D. Eliot, M.A., Ph.D. New York: The Macmillan Co.
$1.25 net
This book does not portray the reform of boy gangs, nor
describe in detail the standards or practice of courts and probation
officers, but, as the author himself says, " its object has been to
treat the juvenile court in its relation to other social institutions,
as a problem in social economy." The author maintains that the
juvenile court as at present organized is an unnecessary and an
anomalous institution. Its present functions, he tells us, could
and should be performed by the school and the domestic relations
court.
Even those who disagree with Dr. Eliot's conclusions will find
his volume most suggestive.
FROM E. P. Dutton & Co., New York, we have twenty-one
volumes of the Everyman's Library (cloth, 35 cents net;
leather, 70 cents net). This already remarkable collection of classics,
old and new, in artistic make-up, at popular prices, now numbers
seven hundred and twenty-one volumes. The following list of
recent additions gives a fair idea of its scope and variety: The
Life of Robert Browning, by Edward Dowden; Ccesar^s Gallic War
^nd Other Commentaries, translated by W. A. McDevitte; Carlyle's
1915] NEW BOOKS 407
Essays; Short Studies, by James Anthony Froude ; The Story of a
Peasant, by Erckmann-Chatrian ; The Subaltern, by Rev. George
Robert Gleig; Windsor Castle, by Harrison Ainsworth; Tom
Cringle's Log, by Michael Scott; Poor Folk and the Gambler, by
Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoieflfsky ; Josephus' Wars of the Jews;
History of the French Revolution, from 1789 to 1814, by F. A. M.
Mignet; British Historical Speeches and Orations, compiled by
Ernest Rhys; Poems by Ralph Waldo Emerson; Brand: A Dra-
matic Poem, by Henrik Ibsen; Heimskringla, The Olaf Sagas,
by Snorre Sturlason; Rights of Man, being an answer to Mr.
Burke's attack on the French Revolution, by Thomas Paine;
Bacon's the Advancement of Learning; Travels in France and
Italy During the Years lySy, 1788, 1789, by Arthur Young; Tales
of Ancient Greece, by Sir George W. Cox, Bart.
T ONGMANS, GREEN & CO. have just published a new and
^ cheaper edition of the works of the Abb6 Fouard, translated
some years ago by G. F. X. Griffith. The six volumes include:
The Christ, the Son of God; St. Peter and the First Years of
Christianity; St. Paul and His Missions; The Last Years of St.
Paul; St. John and the Close of the Apostolic Age. The Catholic
World has very frequently spoken of the excellences o( these noted
volumes. We wish to thank the publishers for this cheaper and
uniform edition, and once more heartily recommend the volumes
to the Catholic public. The price of the entire set is $7.50.
'PHE same house announces the publication of a new work by Rev.
^ John T. Driscoll, S.T.L., entitled Pragmatism and the Problem
of the Idea. In view of the wide vogue of pragmatism in recent
philosophy, Father Driscoll's book is timely. His purpose is to
show that the basic error of pragmatism as a philosophy is its false
presentation of the idea.
Father Driscoll is well known as the author of the volumes on
Christian Philosophy — God, and The Soul. And no doubt his new
volume will be widely welcomed. It will be reviewed later in our
pages.
A N excellent little guide book, entitled California and the Far
-^ West; Suggestions for the West-Bound Traveler, by K. E.
M. Dumbcll (New York: James Pott & Co. 75 cents net), is
compiled for the use of tourists who intend to visit the Panama
4o8 NEW BOOKS [June,
Exposition this year. It points out all the trips worth taking, with
suggestions regarding the best hotels, railroads, chief points of
interest, and the like.
TTHE fourth volume of Father L. Branchereau*s Mediiaiiofts
^ (New York: Benziger Brothers. $i.oo) treats of the feasts
of the Liturgical Year from Advent to the Fourth Sunday of Lent
ST. AUGUSTINE, in his De Cura Gerenda Pro Mortuis, reply-
ing to certain inquiries addressed to him by St Paulinus of
Nola, gives a detailed explanation of Christian belief regarding the
burial of the dead, the independence of the soul from the condition
of the body after death, the purely indirect character of benefits
to be derived by the departed from their place of interment, and the
manner and significance of their appearance to the living in dreams,
to request burial. Miss Allies, in a small volume entitled How
to Help the Dead (New York: Benziger Brothers. 40 cents), has
given us a translation of the treatise in question. The work is
admirably done, and puts this practical treatise of the great Doctor
of the Church at the disposal of all the faithful.
A MEMBER of the Ursuline Community of Sligo has compiled
a book of devotions, A Garland For St, Joseph (New York:
Benziger Brothers. 75 cents net), especially fitted for the month of
March, but suitable throughout the year for devout clients of St.
Joseph, or those desirous of becoming such. It consists of informal
meditations, poems and anecdotes concerning the Saint culled from
different sources. The extracts will be found to be wisely selected,
varied, and profitable.
TTINTS ON LATIN STYLE, by James A. Kleist (New York:
^^ Schwartz, Kirwin & Fauss. 30 cents), is a digest of the au-
thor's larger work entitled Aids to Latin Prose Composition. It is
designed primarily for classes of Latin in the High Schools. Each
of the twenty-eight Hints is printed on a separate page, so that the
student may add his own notes, and the observations of his
instructor.
FATHER VAN TRICHT, of St Ignatius' Institute, Antwerp,
Belgium, has written a little brochure, Vocation (New York:
Benziger Brothers. 10 cents), telling how a vocation to the priest-
1915.] NEW BdOKS 409
hood and to the religious state may be ascertained and followed out
Father Paul Conniff, SJ., has adapted this conference for English
readers, and has added in an appendix the decision on priestly voca-
tion given by a commission of Cardinals in 191 2 at the time of the
Abbe Lahitton controversy.
DIEDERICH-SCHAEFER COMPANY of Milwaukee, Wis-
consin, has issued the seventh edition of the little manual,
entitled Catholic Belief and Practice, by Rev. James E. McGavick.
The manual sells for 15 cents a single copy; and $10.00 per
hundred.
THE Boys' Orphan Asylum of Manchester, New Hampshire, has
sent us an excellent little treatise called A Few Suggestions for
the Practical Nurse. Price, 15 cents.
PAMPHLET PUBLICATIONS.
The United States Bureau of Education has sent us the following pamphlets :
Organisation of StaU Departments of Education, by A. C Monahan; The
Present Status of the Honor System in Colleges and Universities, by B. T.
Baldwin; The Educational Museum of the St. Louis Public Schools, by Carl G.
Rathman; The Health of School Children, by W. H, Heck; The Efficiency of
Rural School Teachers, by H. W. Foght; Literary Instruction in Universities,
Colleges and Normal Schools, by H. R. Evans; Education for the Home, by
B. R. Andrews; The Training of Teachers in England, Scotland, and Germany,
by C H, Judd; The Present Status of Drawing and Art in the Eiementary
and Secondary Schools of the United States, by R. B. Famum; Agricultural
Teaching; The Kindergarten in Benevolent Institutions; The Care of Health in
Girard College, Philadelphia; A Study of the Colleges and High Schools in
the North Central Association, and Cooking in the Vocational School, by I. P.
CLeary. < i ^^\
The United States Department of Agriculture has published four pamphlets
on The Social and Labor Needs, the Domestic, Educational and Economic Needs
of Farm Women.
The Australian Cathc^c Truth Society of Melbourne has sent us Cultured
Paganism, by Rev. W. J. Tucker, S.J. ; The Kultur Kampf, by Dr. G. R. Baldwin ;
A Soldiet^s Son and Other Stories, by Miriam Agatha; Thoughts on a First
Reading of the Life and Poems of Francis Thompson, by Miss N. Boylan;
Blessed Peter Chanel (a play). Price, 5 cents each.
The America Press have published some interesting articles in some of the
late issues of The Catholic Mind: Dr. Walsh's Sixty Historical Don'ts and
Fifty Donets of Science; The Jesuit Myth; Catholic Sociology; Was Shakes-
pere a Catholic t The Menace and the Mails, The Church and the Mexican
Revolution, and The Ethics of War,
We acknowledge the Forty-third Annual Report of the Roosevelt Hospital,
New York, the Forty-sixth Annual Report of St. Mary's Industrial School for
Boys, and the Annual Report of the Commissioner of Corporations to the
4IO NEW BOOKS [June,
Secretary of Gjmmcrcc, Washington, D. C, and the Twenty-eighth Annual
Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology.
The United States Brewers' Association has issued its 1914 Year Book,
containing the reports delivered at the Fifty- fourth Annual Q)nvention held in
New Orleans, November 18-21, 1914, and additional chapters on the Alcohol
Question and Saloon Reform.
FOREIGN PUBLICATIONS.
Les Vaillantes du Devoir— Etudes Feminines, by Leon-Rimbault (Paris:
Pierre Tequi. sfrs. 50.) The Abbe Leon Rimbault has just published a new
edition of the conferences which he delivered some years ago in Cahors, France.
The various chapters are entitled: Woman Who Think, Women Who Love,
Women Who Weep, Women Who Pray, Women Who Work, etc The volume
concludes with four pan^;yrics on St Genevieve, Sl Qotilda, Blanche of
Castile, and Joan of Arc.
Les Sacraments, by Monsignor Besson. (Paris: Pierre Tdqui. 2 vols.
6frs.) This is the tenth edition of Monsignor Besson's well-known conferences
on the Sacraments delivered some thirty years ago in the cathedral of Besan^on,
France.
Examen Conscientue; seu Methodus excipiendi confessiones variis in Unguis
scilicet germanice, gallice, brittanice, italice, hispanice, et polonice. Auctore
P. Fulgentio Maria Krebs, Ord. Min. Cap. (New York: Fr. Pustet
& Co. 20 cents.) Presenting in brief compass the main words and
phrases commonly used in the administering and receiving of the Sacrament
of Penance, the brochure published by Father Krebs will be useful both to
people and to priests when they are at the disadvantage of not knowing
well the language that necessity forces them to employ. It covers the ordinary
points fairly, though without indicating the pronunciation of the words.
De Curia Romana, by Felix M. Capello. Vol. IL (New York: Fr.
Pustet & Cb. $1.75 net.) This is the second volume of Father Capello's excel-
lent treatise on the Roman Curia, according to the reform of Pope Pius X.
Book L discusses the vacancy of the Holy See and the rights and duties of
all Roman officials during the interim. Book II. discusses the historical and
juridical aspects of Papal elections, the Conclave, the right of veto, etc Some
questions are rather superficially treated, as, for instance, the problem of an
heretical or insane Pope. The bibliography shows an ignorance of German.
Francois Suarez, by Abb^ Raoul de Scorraille, S.J. 2 vols. (Paris:
P. Lethidleux. 15 frs.) The Abbe Scorraille has written a most detailed life
of the great Jesuit theologian Suarez, the Doctor eximius et pius. He presents
him to us as the model religious, humble, obedient, and mortified; the in-
defatigable professor of philosophy and theology in the Jesuit Colleges of
Salamanca, Segovia, Valladolid, Rome, Alcala and 0>imbra; the original and
subtle thinker and writer on the most abstruse questions of theology. The
student will find many points of interest in these two volumes, v, g., his con-
troversies with Vasquez; his share in the formation of the Jesuit ratio
studiorum; his contributions to the discussion of the de auxilOs; his views
about confession by letter or messenger which were condemned by Rome; his
Denfensio fidei against James I. of England, etc These two volumes repre-
sent the labor of many years, the writer showing a perfect acquaintance with
both the printed and the unedited works of Suarez.
foreign |^etto^tcals.
The Clergy and Blood Shedding. By Monsignor Moyes, D.D,
From a very early date priests were exempt from military service,
and were forbidden to take part in deeds of bloodshed or slaughter.
The General Council of Chalcedon in a. d. 451 is held to have pro-
hibited, even under pain of anathema, members of the clergy or
monastic bodies from joining the army or seeking secular dignities.
The prohibition was reaffirmed by local councils in France and
Spain and elsewhere, and became part of the staple of Canon Law in
East and West. The civil law, as far back as the code of Theo-
dosius, early in the fifth century, bears witness to its enforcement
by the fact that it took special precautions that men should not
become monks or clerics merely to escape serving in the army. The
basic reason of the prohibition was the deep-seated conviction in
the mind of the Church that acts of violence and the shedding of
blood were out of keeping with the Christ-like gentleness which
she has the right to expect from her clergy. So strong was this
feeling that in later times even the exercise of surgery by clerics
was forbidden by Canon Law. Of course the clergy were always
allowed on the battlefield to help the wounded and the dying, to act
as counselors, chaplains, and confessors.
In the Middle Ages the bishops, as feudal barons — and often
as commissioners of array — ^had to raise troops for the king from
the Church lands of their sees, but they were forbidden to lead
such levies in person. The line between mustering troops and
leading them occasionally proved too thin, and some bishops as-
sumed command of their armies, while not actually fighting, and a
few, notably the Bishops of Beauvais and of Norwich, went straight
into the hurly-burly of the conflict. The latter, however, humbly
acknowledged the trespass, and the disqualification from using his
orders which it involved, and humbly petitioned Pope Boniface IX.,
who in May, 1390, restored him to the exercise of his ministry.
Other like requests are cited, and the answers given by Rome, which
show the continuity of principle and practice on this banning of
bloodshed by clerics. — The Tablet, April 10-17.
Verhaeren: Flemish Poet and Patriot. By Mrs. V. M. Craw-
412 FOREIGN PERIODICALS [June,
ford. Vital national characteristics form the basis of Verhaeren's
muse: the strong mystical element that gave us Ruysbroeck and
the author of the Imitation, Jan van Eyck and Memling, and, in
startling contrast, the grossly material element so marvelously
visualized by the Flemish Old Masters. In spite of frequent so-
journs abroad, Verhaeren has been singularly untouched by foreign
influences. In certain moods, as in Les Flanumdes, he has no reti-
cence, no sense of discrimination ; in Les Debacles and Les Flam^
beaux Noirs, we see ** the beauty of disease," the expression of
paroxysms of despair. In Les Villages Illusoires he passes into
a serener atmosphere, treating his old peasant themes, but in their
symbolical significance. The countryside he sings with sympathy;
the cities with their factories, with horror and aversion. As a
dramatist, he is not so successful, though Le Cloitre achieved on
the Continent a fair measure of success before intellectual audiences;
it reads, however, much better than it acts.
In his Visions de la Vie, Verhaeren seems to have shown the
full fruition of his genius, and to have attained to a clearer under-
standing of life. Woman and sexual love fill small space in his
appreciation of the world's forces. His own development seems
to be in the direction of pantheism. His strongest admirers have
been found in Germany ; by an accident of education he writes only
in French. His permanent reputation will rest on his power of
interpreting the soul of his own race. — The Dublin Review, April.
The Tablet (April lo) : Dr. Peter Guilday, of the Catholic
University of America, in two articles, April loth and 17th, de-
scribes the attempts made by Pope Innocent XI. to relieve the
condition of Catholics in England and of English Catholic exiles in
Belgium (1676-1689). ^The Bishop of Zanzibar, of Kikuyu
fame, has excommunicated his Anglican confrere, the Bishop of
Hereford, for admitting as a Canon of his cathedral, Mr. Streeter,
the author of one of the most rationalistic books of modem times.
The Bishop of Hereford in protest calls attention to the fact " that
Canon Streeter has not even been arraigned, much less condemned,
before any ecclesiastical court or synod, and that he continues to
hold a license to officiate from my brother Bishop, the Bishop of
Oxford." Recently Sir Harcourt Butler, Member for Educa-
tion, introduced a bill in the Legislative Council of India for the
constitution of a University at Benares, " with special facilities
for instruction in the Hindu religion." The Guardian makes the
19151 FOREIGN PERIODICALS 413
following apposite comment : " The logic of facts is getting too
strong for the theories of undenominationalism, it having been
found in practice that, to promote education with any degree of
success, you must give people largely the kind of teaching, including
religious teaching, for which they ask." During recent excava-
tions in the church of St. Ai^jtin's Abbey, Canterbury, there have
been laid bare the remains of the work begun by Abbot Wulfric
between 1056 and 1059; also the remains of the despoiled tombs
of the three immediate successors of St Augustine in the See of
Canterbury — ^Archbishops Laurence, Mellitus, and Justus. Parts
of the original flooring and of what may be the altar of St. Gregory,
and the empty grave where the body of St. Mildred was laid by
Wulfric, were also uncovered. Whether there are any correspond-
ing vestiges of the tombs of St. Austin and of Densdedit and of
Honorius remains to be seen.
The Month (May) : The Editor contributes a discussion, in
the form of Plato's dialogues, on The Ethics of Prohibition.
Rev. J. H. Pollen describes the origin of the Appellant Controversy
in England in 1598. It arose after the end of Dr. Allen's patriarch-
ate, when Father Persons, S.J., was working for the estaWishment
of a local church government under ^iscopal control. It was
eventually decided by Rome that the new hierarchy should be
sacerdotal, not episcopal, and George Blackwell was sent as the first
Archpriest, but the events before his coming and the wording of
the constitution according to which he was commissioned, stirred up
exceedingly bitter feelings against the Jesuits. S. E. S. selects
Rev. S. Baring-Gould's Lives of the Saints to prove that a non-
Catholic cannot really understand the Saints. Such a one must
write of them as from without, not from within. Rev. John
Baptist Reeves, O.P., reviews the history of Lanfranc, monk of
the Monastery of Bee, later Archbishop of Canterbury, and inter-
mediary between Pope St Gregory VII. and William the Conqueror.
Father Reeves' purpose is to show that Lanfranc not only exhibited
the mediaeval spirit; but that this spirit " was a principle which he
understood, an ideal which he cultivated, a life which he deliberately
and intelligently lived and propagated." The secret of his greatness
was " the old ideal, sublime yet practical, of the Church of Christ,"
namely, the indwelling of the Spirit of Truth. Could our age be
brought to adopt this same ideal, it would solve that problem to
which all others are reduciWe: the art of making men. Rev.
414 FOREIGN PERIODICALS [June,
Herbert Thurston, SJ., discusses the authorship of the prayer
Anitna Christi. The earliest reference to it is in the diary of the
celebrated mystic, Margaret Ebner, in 1344, whose spiritual director
was a Dominican, Father Henry of Nordlingen. This suggests
the possibility that the prayer originated among the Friars Preach-
ers. The rubrics connecting its authorship with Pope John XXII.
are untrustworthy.
The Dublin Review (April) : In Toynbee Hall in the Settle-
ment Movement, James Britten reviews at length the foimding
and the work of Toynbee Hall, " The Mother of Settlements."
In the words of Dr. Picht, the historian and former resident of
the Hall, it " represents a fiasco of himianitarian liberalism." Mr.
Britten discusses prominent Catholic settlements, such as St. Cecilia's
house and St. Anthony's settlement.—^ — Mr. Wilfrid Ward con-
tributes a commentary on Cardinal Mercier's Pastoral, and remin-
iscences and criticisms of The Journalism of Great Englishmen.
F. F. Urquhart makes A Plea for International Law, with
the formation of an international conscience, and urges the Church
to take the lead in this matter. A. H. Pollen writes on The
Submarine Myth. Rev. Herbert Thurston bemoans The Plague
of False Prophets. He shows that " in the whole of ecclesiastical
history not one satisfactory example can be quoted of a prophet,
whether canonized or not, who has clearly predicted any unguessable
future event which was of public interest.'' And if Saints have
added practically nothing to our knowledge of the future destiny
of the world, is it likely that any obscure Brother Johannes or
Madame de Thebes will have information to impart worthy of
confidence ?
ReTme du Clergi Fran^ais (April 15) : J. Bricout praises the
learning, honesty, clearness, style, and Catholic spirit exhibited by
M. Georges Goyau in his nine volumes on the religious history of
Germany in the nineteenth century. J. Touzard begins a de-
scription of his trip in 1912 to Mt. Sinai from Cairo. A. Villien
praises the series of studies by M. Paul Viard on the history of
tithes, particularly his latest volume on ecclesiatical tithes in France
in the sixteenth century.
Le Correspondant (April 10) : George Fonsegrive criticizes
Durkheim's recent work on the origins of religion. Max
1915] FOREIGN PERIODICALS 415
Turmann offers his second article on The War and the
International Organisation of Charity in Switzerland, describing
the beneficent activities of the " Society for the Protection of Young
Girls," the Gerdil Agency founded by Madame J. Jaquenond-Gloor
and M. Gerdil, and the " Swiss Catholic Mission to French Prisoners
in Germany."
(May i) : Abbe Wetterle describes the present religious situa-
tion in Alsace-Lorraine. M. Grillon de Givry has published a
pamphlet on the Survival and Marriage of Joan of Arc, a legend
which E. Vacandard has little difficulty in killing once more.
A. Vincent pays an extended tribute to the Encyclopedia of Religion
and Ethics.
Revue Pratique d'Apologetique (April 15) : A. E)rmieu notes
points of opposition and of affinity between the scientific and the
religious spirit. The Russian Duma projects an essential change
in the constitution of the Holy Synod. Its defenders deny the
authority of the Duma to do this. But the official review of the
ecclesiastical academy of Petrograd shows from history that the
Synod does not correspond with either canon or civil law, but has
been for two centuries entirely subject to the authority of the State.
"Recent Events.
The Editor of The Catholic World wishes to state that none
of the contributed articles or departments, signed or unsigned, of
the magazine, with the exception of '' With Our Readers," voices
the editorial opinion of the magc^sine. And no article or department
voices officially the opinion of the Paulist Community,
The tenth month of the War has witnessed
Progress of the War. but little change in the situation. Certain
gains have indeed been made by the French
— nearly a mile in Alsace, in more than two miles near Arras,
a somewhat noteworthy advance in the Woevre — ^but when these
gains are compared with the task which still lies before the Allied
Forces, the war must be considered as still in its early stages, espe-
cially as even on the West the Germans have been able to drive back
the French lines for a short distance by the use of means hitherto
looked upon as unlawful in civilized warfare. The advance failed,
however, to reach Ypres, to say nothing of Calais, upon which, it was
said, the Germans were to make another attempt. In the East, the
position in East Prussia and through Poland has remained un-
changed, while farther south, in Eastern Galicia, the Russians have
not only failed in advancing into Hungary through the Carpathian
passes, but have been driven back a considerable distance by the
Austro-German army, although, according to the latest accounts,
they have again made a stand, and even taken the offensive once
more. The outcome of the many advances which Russia has made,
followed, as they have invariably been, by as many retreats, has
been very disappointing to those who looked to her success. How-
ever such disappointment need not necessarily mean despair. While
her early successes led to the belief, or at least to the hope, that
Berlin would be reached, those better acquainted with the capabil-
ities of the Russian army felt doubtful about its being able to carry
on an offensive campaign. For defence it was recognized as un-
conquerable, and if the campaign is now to take this character, no
anxiety need be felt.
It must also be borne in mind, as a newspaper correspondent
at Petrograd has pointed out, that the Russian attack has conipelled
1915] RECENT EVENTS 4^7
the German General Staff to divert to the East reenforccmcnts which
were originally meant for the West, and it will then be seen how
great is the debt which the Allies owe to Russia. All through the
winter the fate of the Allies has depended upon her. Had she re-
mained passive, or suffered heavy defeats, she could have been left
with a force relatively small to keep her quiet. The mass of the
enemy's forces would then have been thrown against the French,
Belgians, and British, before the latter had had time to prepare her
army. On the contrary, Russia has never ceased to keep the Ger-
mans busy. Germany has not been able to devote her chief attention
to the Western theatre, but has been hard put to it to know how to
parry Russia's blows.
The long line which Russia has to defend must also be taken
into account. While in the West the French occupy 543^ miles,
the British 31J4 miles, and the Belgians 1 7 J/^ miles, making in all
592 J4 miles; in the East the line of the Russians extends over
856^4 miles. As the Servians and Montenegrins hold 218^ miles,
the whole extends to the enormous total of 1,6675^ miles, a distance
greater than that from New York City to Oklahoma.
After having brought to a successful issue the contest with
Germany in Togoland, Samoa, New Guinea, and the islands under
the jurisdiction of its Governor, Great Britain and her Colonies
have still seven campaigns on hand : France, the Dardanelles, Egypt,
East Africa, the Cameroon, Mesopotamia, Southwest Africa, and
East Africa. With the exception of that in France, which is, of
course, the primary action of the War, the Dardanelles is the most
serious. The first attempt in March may be considered a failure.
It resulted, however, in the discovery of the necessity of land forces
for the reduction of the forts. These forces are now being used.
British and French troops have been landed, in what number is
not known, nor with what success. Southwest Africa, where
General Botha himself is in command of the troops, seems to have
been so far the scene not of complete but of substantial success, the
capital of the German territory having just fallen. Resistance, how-
ever, is not yet at an end. On the other hand. East Africa has been
the scene of British reverses, in consequence of which the British
have been forced to content themselves with acting on the defensive.
They have, however, taken possession of an island on the coast of
German East Africa, while maintaining an effective blockade of that
colony. Moreover, the naval power of the Germans on Lake Vic-
toria Nyanza has been destroyed, and its port on the same lake seized.
VOL. a.— 27
4i8 RECENT EVENTS [June,
In the Cameroon the British and the French are acting in different
parts of the colony with a varying degree of success. The coast,
however, is effectually blockaded. All attacks so far made on Egypt
by the Turks have been easily repulsed, whether finally or not
remains to be seen, as they have an extremely truculent leader, who
has taken a vow to conquer Egypt. Contrary to expectations the
campaign in Mesopotamia has been renewed, Kuma, a place seized
by the British some months ago, having been attacked by a new
Turkish and Arabian army. This attack was imsuccessful, at least
for the time being. It is said that British forces are acting in
Persia for the protection of the oil wells, of which use is made by
the British navy.
No vestige remains in any part of the world of German sea
power, except where it is cooped up in the Kiel Canal or hidden
beneath the waves — the submarine blockade. Liverpool shipowners,
whom it is mbst likely to affect, look upon the submarine attack as
a mere farce, a quarter of one per cent being the value of the loss it
has so far inflicted. The total cargo losses from the beginning of
the war suffered by Great Britain amount to a little more than two
dollars and a half out of five hundred dollars. It is the imagination
only that is affected by the record in the papers of submarine suc-
cesses, for nothing is said of the hundreds of safe voyages.
The one " achievement " of the German submarine warfare
is the awful crime of the torpedoing of the Lusitcmia. This, ter-
rible though the cost has been, may be said to have proved an
immense gain not only for the Allies, but for the world. It has
already yielded fruit of the highest value. It has brought home
to all willing to see, in a way in which nothing else could have done,
the real character of German warfare. Best of all it has enabled
this country at last to take the stand which many thought ought
to have been taken on account of the wrongs inflicted on Belgium.
The President judged that in that case we had no loctis standi;
the destruction of the Lusitcmia has given this to us. The claim
of America to lead the civilized world, which many were beginning
to think was mere clap-trap, has now been fully vindicated.. It is not
that this country's entry into war is desirable; in fact, the contrary is
the case, for what would become of Belgium and Poland ? The su-
preme value of the President's action consists in the proof which it
affords, that there is still a voice outside the ranks of the Allies
not afraid to brand in fitting terms the crimes of the nation before
whom the rest of the world seems to be cowering. If the smaller
ipiS.] RECENT EVENTS 419
nations, Holland and Norway, which have been treated in a like
manner, now take a similar stand, a league of neutral nations might
be formed, which would be able to bring effectual pressure to bear
upon the aggressor.
The striking characteristic of the present war is, of course,
the immense nimiber of combatants. What this precisely is,
it is impossible to say : it cannot, however, be much less than ten
millions. Perhaps even a more striking feature is the character
which the warfare has assumed. Over the greater part of the
ground it has taken rather the form of siege operations than that
of stricken battlefields. The chief defences, however, are not stone
forts or even earthworks, but trenches with barbed wire entangle-
ments. The latter are so elaborate as to necessitate the use of
artillery on an immense scale, as was proved at Neuve Chapelle.
In view of the adoption of machine guns, individual bravery would
appear to be useless. These guns fire five hundred bullets a minute,
and the Germans had, it is said, fifty thousand of them. In a
recent action it is calculated that thirty million shots were fired.
This, of course, gives the explanation of the awful loss of life.
At Neuve Chapelle the British lost more than at Waterloo, and
yet Neuve Chapelle was but an episode in the present war. In spite,
however, of the apparent uselessness for human beings attempting
to contend with death-dealing machinery of this character, the spirit
of the man of our times has risen to the occasion. There has been
no flinching; The records of the past have, in fact, been far
surpassed. The established rule has hitherto been that when ten
per cent of the holders of a trench had been killed or wounded, the
trench was to be evacuated. Many instances have taken place in
the present war when after fifty per cent had been incapacitated
the men have refused to yield. However comfort-seeking and
even luxurious our times may be, the soldiers they have produced
will stand for unsurpassed noble daring, and the spirit of sacrifice
second to none, in the records of history.
Another characteristic of the war cannot be passed over in
silence: it has been waged as a lawless war. Never has there
been a more complete disappointment than that of those who have
boasted of modern progress. A list, and one by no means complete,
which includes the wholesale laying of mines without due notice,
the sinking without warning of merchant ships ; the unnamable and
innumerable outrages upon non-combatant men, women, and chil-
dren; the poisoning of wells; the oft-repeated killing of soldiers
420 RECENT EVENTS [June,
wounded in battle; the brutal treatment of prisoners of war; the
organized and syrtematic campaign of mendacity, of which the
statement that the Lu^tcmia carried an armament of twelve strongly
mounted guns is only one of a hundred instances, cannot be matched,
when taken together for barbarism and savagery, by any war that
has ever yet taken place. As no event happens without antecedents,
any hopes for the future of humanity which may be still enter-
tained, depend upon such a study of the antecedents which have led
up to the present crisis as will provide a remedy. It will doubtless
be found, as our Holy Father has pointed out, that to the pursuit
of material welfare as the chief object of life, the evil is in lai^e
measure to be attributed.
Yet another and more pleasant characteristic, or at least result-
ant of this war, may be mentioned — the outpouring of charity of
which it has been the occasion. A single fund for the help of the
dependents of those engsaged in the war reached, in comparatively
a short time, the large sum of twenty-five millions, a sum which is
still being added to, while a single newspaper raised more than a
million in aid of the Red Cross. Every kind of help and comfort
is being lavishly contributed — tobacco, books, musical instruments,
picture shows. Actors have gone near the front to amuse the
soldier, and preachers to instruct him. A soldier who in some way
had let it become known that he was suffering from loneliness b^
came* within a few days, the recipient of three thousand letters and
eighty parcels.
The movement for Church imion which has been developing
and growing stronger for many years, will undoubtedly receive a
great impetus. The thoughts of men have been turned in a way,
never experienced before, to the dread realities of death and eternity,
aisd in their presence the divisions made by men tend to lose their
hold The religion which best gives to men, in the awful scenes
through which they ate passing, the help of which they stand in
need, will find a better way to acceptance than ever before. As
the need of Christ is being felt with greater urg^cy, the Church
which supplies that need, the one which brings Christ doser, will
be more aiid more recognized as satisfying the aspirations of the
soul.
In France no change has taken place in the
Fiaiica. Government, which maintains the firm deter-
mination to achieve the objects announced
at first. To use the words of M. Viviani, " France is ready for all
1915.I RECENT EVENTS 421
sacrifices like her Allies who are fighting by her side for the right
So long as it is necessary to fight, France will fight. In common
with her Allies, she will not contemplate the idea of peace until*
together with them, she has driven the aggressor from the ^oil of
Belgium, regained her own territorial integrity, and by a joint effort
freed Europe from Prussian militarism. France owes this to her
history, to her past, and to her honor. She owes it also to those of
her children who are bleeding and dying, and who are sure that
such immense sacrifices are not being made in order to secure a
merely precarious peace." A few of tiie Socialists who showed
signs of wavering met with universal condemnation. While all
classes have vied with each other in offering themsdves to the
service of their country, the aristocracy has particulariy distin-
guished itself. Among these may be mentioned the Comte La
Fitte de Pelleport, who at the age of fifty-nine enlisted as a volunteer
for the duration of the war, but died eariy in the war on the field
of battle.
There are, of course, exceptions to this as to every rule. A
number of strapping adults have saved themselves from going to
the front by becoming clerks at military stores, or driving unneces^
sary motor-cars in Paris. Thqr are numerous enough to have
received the special name of enibusquSs, which is applied to them in
derision. The average middle and lower class family is giving
liberally all for the nation — ^its men, its still growing boys, and all
but the very shreds of its income. The feeling is universal that
it is a sin for a man who is able to fight not to be engaged in the
defence of his cotmtry. So keen is this feeling that something like
resentment is expressed by some classes in France that the war
does not seem to mean so much to the people of Great Britain
as to themselves. They cannot understand that life in Great Britain
can go on undisturbed, with its strikes and labor troubles, its
business and bank holidays as usual. Doubt is even felt whether
England is really as earnest about the war as France— a doubt which
is without the shadow of a justification.
Foreign observers have been struck by the fraternal feeling that
exists between the officers and the men in the French army, a thing
which is one of the outcomes of the democratic rigtme in France.
Officers and non-commissioned officers sit at the same table in a
spirit of good-fellowship, to the amazement of the British. A
private does not feel embarrassed at facing his commandant in a
restaurant ; they talk freely to each other even at tfie front. And this
422 RECENT EVENTS [June,
is done without any detriment to discipline. Behind the friendly
feeling of officers and men the discipline is of the sternest, and it has
asserted itself in the present war whenever the occasion has called
for it. The Commander-in-Chief, its fountain head, has been
unpitying when efficiency is concerned. He has rejuvenated the
Higher Command; the French army is now a young army; its
generals are now about ten years younger than their predecessors.
The older men, with a few exceptions, have retired or have been
gfiven other work. Many privates have been raised from the ranks ;
nor is there any feeling in France in such cases. The spirit of
democracy is strong enough to prevent any resentment being shown.
The millionaire who responds to the mobilization order in his
motor-car, may have to accept orders from his servant who is a
sergeant. General JoflFre, or as he is often called, Pere Joffre, re-
tains in his hands without dispute the destinies of France, com-
manding, as he does, the complete confidence of the nation, it having
found in him the necessary man. The story is told about Marshal
von Hindenburg that when he was asked to choose what general
should be sent as his Chief-of-Staff, he replied " General JoflFre.'*
He has emerged so far as the great personality of the war, and he is
being loyally supported without jealousy or recrimination by the
whole of the French nation.
It is all but impossible to learn the real state
Germany. of mind of the German people. Unshakable
confidence in ultimate success are the public
declarations of high and low. If, however, reliance can be placed in
letters found upon prisoners or the dead, in private circles this
confidence is being shaken. The impressions formed by travelers
are almost uniform in giving testimony to German determination
and confidence, especially of those travelers who have trodden the
more beaten paths. In some places, however, a more chastened
feeling exists. For example, at Leipzig a preacher, in the course
of his sermon, expressed his willingness to allow that victory de-
pended upon the will of God, and that it was within the range of
possibility that it might be His will to punish them. "We have been
too proud of worldly goods, too eager for wealth, too deaf to the
laws of God, not to tremble now lest He punish us. He never errs ;
we may all err; the Emperor may err; but God never errs."
Divergence is already beginning to manifest itself among the
professors as to the responsibility for the war. Up to August 4th
19151 RECENT EVENTS 423
practically all agreed in laying the blame to Russia ; since that date
the same agreement existed that it was to Great Britain that the war
was due. A pamphlet, however, has recently been published,
written by Dr. Arnold Meyer, Professor of History in the Univer-
sity of Rostock, which exonerates Great Britain from all formal
guilt, still laying, however, to her charge a " guilt without intention."
Having subjected the record of recent years to a strict examination,
he finds that by entering into the Triple Entente, Great Britain
fostered the antagonism to Germany of France and Russia, but
was not able to control them, even when she desired so to do.
Her policy has, therefore, been not so much wicked and malicious as
shortsighted. The professor's pamphlet has not yet stemmed the
tide of hatred to England, which has risen to such heights in
Germany, but which has now been extended in a less degree to this
country and even to Holland, and in a measure to all neutrals.
For France quite different feelings are expressed, mingled with the
hope of separating that country from the cause of her Allies.
Some go so far as to say that for a sum of money, Alsace-Lorraine
might be returned to France if the two provinces declared by vote
their desire to return to France again.
A somewhat sarcastic observer of the atti-
Italy, tude of Italy and of the Balkan States has
characterized it as that of the man who is
sitting on the fence waiting to give his help to the winning side,
Italy disclaims such base opportunism, and, indeed, the difficulty
of her situation renders such a disclaimer plausible. The long
delay which has occurred, has been largely due to the fact that the
Government which preceded the present had left the army so badly
provided with arms and munitions that it was impossible for it to
take an active part. This difficulty has now been overcome. There
is no question of her going to war on the side of Germany. The
question is between neutrality and joining the Allies.
On the condition of her remaining neutral, Austria, it is be-
lieved, has promised to make certain cessions of territory, the in-
habitants of which are chiefly Italian. The chief ambition of Italy,
however, is to acquire complete control of the Adriatic, a control
which is now limited by Austria-Hungary's possession of the ports
of Trieste and Fiume. Austria-Hungary is naturally unwilling to
make so great a sacrifice. On the other hand, in the event of the
success of the Allies, even if Italy by joining them should contribute
424 RECENT EVENTS [June,
to diat success, it is not certain diat this ambition would be realized,
for Servia has long been clamoring for a way to the Adriatic. This
clahn has been recently backed in a very impolitic way by a part
of the press of Russia, although the Government of Russia has not
supported this claim. So Italy, so far as it is represented by its
Government, is in doubt where her interests lie, and it is only about
her interests that the Government is concerned. This uncertainty
has given rise to wide differences of opinion, and has, moreover,
afforded an opportunity for German intrigue. Signor Salandra's
Cabinet leaned strongly to the policy of intervention on the side
of the Allies, but on so momentous a question was tmwilling to act
unless it received the support of all parties. Being doubtful about
securing this support the Prime Minister resigned. This resig-
nation almost produced a revolution, for the people as a whole are
bent upon war with Austria to enable Italy to take the last step
in the liberation of the Italians still under a foreign yoke. The
King made every effort to find a successor able and willing to form
a Cabinet. Having failed in this attempt, he was obliged to refuse
to accept Signor Salandra's resignation. He consequently remains
in power, although with a slightly modified Cabinet As these lines
are being written the question of war with Austria hangs in the
balance, with the strong probability that war will be declared. The
Italian Parliament is to meet on the twentieth.
The situation in the Balkans remains un-
The Balkan States, changed. Rumania remains quiescent: her
action largely, it is said, depends on that
of Italy. Bulgaria's Prime Minister has declared his resolve to
remain neutral. One of the political parties is strongly anti-
Russian and pro-Austrian, the whole nation is anti-Servian, and a
general distrust exists of the rest of the world resulting from the
treatment Bulgaria received during and after the recent wars.
How bad are her relations with Servia may be judged from the
recent inroad made into Servian territory by bands from Bulgaria,
although the Government of Bulgaria disclaims all responsibility
for these disturbances. The inaction of Greece is one of the chief
puzzles. The attack made by the Allies upon the Dardanelles af-
forded the Greeks an opportunity of attaining the objects for which
they have sought for centuries. The fact that some five hundred
thousand Greeks have been driven from their homes by the Turks,
made an appeal upon their sympathies. The arrangement made with
I9IS] RECENT EVENTS 425
Bulgaria by M. Venezelos removed all danger from that quarter.
Yet none of these considerations, nor yet her alliance with Servia,
moved Greece to action. M. Venezelos has, in disgust, left the
country of which he has been the saviour.. It is rumored that
petticoat influence has had something to do in the matter. This,
however, is hotly decried, as well as that the dread of the German
military machine has cowed the officers of the army.
The Portuguese Republic has greatly dis-
PortugaL appointed its well-wishers. For the past five
years obscure personalities have more or less
precariously dominated the situation, and have come and gone as
the result of underground intrigues. It would serve no purpose
to trace the history of the past twelve months, the only thing worth
mentioning is that even the pretense of constitutional government
was being superseded. The Ministry in power was almost auto-
cratic, and was alleged to be playing into the hands of the Royalists.
This has at last aroused the hostility of zealous Republicans. As in
the case of the expulsion of the Royalists, the navy took the lead.
The army was divided in opinion and at first oflFcred resistance.
This, however, seems to have been soon overcome, for in Lisbon, at
least, the revolutionary party succeeded in their efforts, and within
twenty-four hours a new Cabinet has been appointed, pledged to
govern on Republican principles. The position of the President',
Dr. Manoel Arriaga, has so far not been affected by the enforced
change of Ministry. The members of the late Cabinet have been
put in prison.
With Our Readers.
THE rights of our country were outrageously violated when a
German submarine torpedoed and sank the steamship Lusitania,
thus causing the death of over one hundred American citizens, men,
women, and children. President Wilson has voiced, in a strong and
dignified manner, the protest of the nation in his note of May 13th
to the German Government.
Through this act of lawlessness we have been made to suflfer
" injuries which are without measure."
Our President's action has, it is almost needless to say, the loyal
support of every American ; and the same loyalty will be extended to
him in whatever further course he may take for upholding the rights,
the dignity, and the honor of the nation.
IT is eminently significant also that President Wilson pleads not only
for the rights of the nation, but for the rights of all humanity.
The document is in this sense one of the most important ever issued
by our Government. It dares to ask and to expect great moral ideals
from men ; and it places high, but not too high, the standard of human
justice which should guide us all. Some there are who say that all
such appeals are idle and impractical talk; but without faith in the
best, or at least the better part of ourselves and of our fellows, how
can we ever preach hope? With what enthusiasm and trust can we
ever declare the Gospel of our Lord and teachings of our Holy
Church — which many have rejected as impossible, which many are now
claiming to be a failure, " foolishness and a stumbling block " — ^unless
we see the possibility of an answering response in those to whom we
appeal? True it is that we can only plant and water, that God alone
gives the increase, but it is to man that He gives it, and He makes or
leaves them free agents in accepting it and profiting by it
IT was Luther who taught that human nature is essentially depraved;
and Calvin who preached a fatal predestination. Catholic doctrine
is opposed to both ; and the Catholic Church has not hesitated to de-
clare to man the whole counsel of God, and to impose upon him as an
intellectual and a moral burden the whole Gospel of Jesus Christ,
which she preserves for the salvation of the world.
iQiSl ^ITH OUR READERS 427
WE say, therefore, that the President's document is of singular im-
portance, because it helps to bring to men's minds an ideal of
justice, the general observance of which would surely work for peace
and well-being among all men and all nations. The President appeals
for "those rules of fairness, justice and humanity which all modem
opinion regards as imperative." He champions the " sacred principles
of justice and humanity." He condemns "the unlawful and in-
humane act."
Ha * * Ha
THIS note of the President's was seconded by his New York speech
of May 17th. He spoke of the United States battleships, then
lying in the Hudson River, as no instruments of bluster or aggression,
but as engines of force to promote the interests of humanity.
For the interesting and inspiring thing about America, gentlemen, is that
she asks nothing for herself except what she has a right to ask for humanity
itself. We want no nation's property; we wish to question no nation's honor;
we wish to stand selfishly in the way of the development of no nation ; we want
nothing that we cannot get by our own legitimate enterprise and by the inspira-
tion of our own example, and, standing for these things, it is not pretension on
our part to say that we are privileged to stand for what every nation would
wish to stand for, and speaking for those things which all humanity must desire.
When I think of the flag which those ships carry, the only touch of
color about them, the only thing that moves as if it had a settled spirit in it
in their solid structure, it seems to me that I see alternate strips of parch-
ment upon which are written the rights of liberty, of justice, and strips
of blood spilt to vindicate those rights, and then, in the comer, a prediction
of the blue serene into which every nation may swim which stands for those
great things.
The mission of America is the only thing that a sailor or soldier should
think about; he has nothing to do with the formulation of her policy; he is to
support her policy whatever it is — but he is to support her policy in the spirit
of herself, and the strength of our policy is that we, who for the time being
administer the affairs of this nation, do not originate her spirit; we attempt to
embody it; we attempt to realize it in action; we are dominated by it, we do
not dictate it And so with every man in arms who serves the nation, he stands
and waits to do the thing which the nation desires.
America sometimes seems, perhaps, to forget her programme or, rather I
would say, that sometimes those who represent her seem to forget her pro-
gramme, but the people never forget It is as startling as it is touching to
see wherever you touch a principle you touch the hearts of the people of the
United States.
CARDINAL MAFFI AND THE ITALIAN PRESS REFORM.
BY RUTH EGERTON.
OWING to chronic Italian " State railway " methods, it took us almost
nine hours to cover a distance of one hundred miles in order to
reach Pisa for a special audience of Pisa's Cardinal, Pietro Maffi.
4^ IVITH OUR READERS [June,
We had seen the all*impoftaiit Decree pronounced by Pope Benedict
XV., as it was concisely printed in the Osservatore Romano, and
we went immediately to hear from the originatctf and initiator of this
great movement for tiie betterment of the Italian press, all that could
as yet be said of the scheme. Notwithstandii^ the railway delays,
the Cardinal had kept an extended time free for the audience. We
were received at once, and His Eminence then told us what could be
told. " It must be remembered," he said, " that as yet everythit^ had
to be formulated, only the outlines of the scheme had been laid down
by His Holiness* If," said the Girdinal, " a good working plan were
established within six months it would mean great progress."
The main idea of the movement and the purpose, for which it is
obvious funds must be gathered on a large scale f nnn all Catholics,
is to combat the stream of evil printed matter which for years past,
and with ever-increasing power, has been and is being poured into the
ears of the people of Italy, attacking openly, covertly, skillfully, by every
conceivable means the religious and moral faith of the Italians. Hence,
as His Eminence remarked, " the scheme must succeed ; offerings must
come in; for everyone who feels himself to be a Catholic will surely
help."
The movement for a good press proposes, then, to fight the bad
press. It suggests perfecting, if possible, the few already existing
Catholic papers, and it will deliberate on the advisability of purchasing
a new " daily " attractive to the lower classes, the publication of an
illustrated weekly and the inauguration in poor localities of the parish
magazine or bulletin. It proposes also to establish delegates in every
city of importance, and in every diocese throughout Italy.
It is obvious that large funds will be required for such work.
As yet, however, the Papal Decree fixed $i.oo a year as a sufficient
sum to constitute each subscriber an associate of this new " Work."
As long, therefore, as Catholics say, " We will send our subscriptbn
when we see what the society prints," the society must needs reply,
" We cannot work until we have the funds." So it is obvious that the
first thing to do is for every one of us, not only Italian but American
Catholics also (many of whom know and love Italy and deeply de-
plore its corrupt and anti-Christian press), to send his quota direct
and speedily to His Eminence, Cardinal Pietro Maffi, the Archiepis-
copal Palace, Pisa, Italy.
It is impossible to exaggerate the need ; it is impossible to over-
look the incessant, insidious and open attacks, daily made, on the faith
of the masses. A long residence in Italy entitles us to be believed as
to this. And when one remembers the thousands of Italians who settle
in all parts of the United States, surely it would be poor policy, if
nothing else, to disregard and refrain from assisting, as far as it is in
igiSl tyiTH OUR READERS 4^
our power, such a world-wide reform as this movement promises to
be in the capable hands of Cardinal Maffi. There is no doubt that
this reform will be ably carried out. A complete programme of what
is to be done, and how, will be published as soon as possible, and
meanwhile the Cardinal of Pisa will be glad to consider any practical
suggestion as to the detailed working out of the scheme.
MANY more letters of congratulation on the Golden Jubilee of
The Catholic World have reached us. It is* impossible on
account of lack of space to publish them. We feel, however, that our
readers will be particularly pleased to see the subjoined letter from
His Eminence Cardinal Falconio, who endeared himself to all Amer-
icans; the second letter affords us an opportunity to make amends
for an omission.
PuzzA CAvouit 17
Roma
April 15, 1915.
To THE Editor of The Catholic Woio^ :
It has just come to my notice, in the April number of The World, that
you are celebrating the Golden Jubilee of the inception of its publication. I am
glad to add my own hearty congratulations to the many that you have already
received. The splendid work that your review has done for the Catholic cause
from the days when it was practically alone in the field down to the present,
makes it deserving of the highest praise.
I pray that God may bless your efforts, and that The Catholic World
may not only continue, but increase its titles to the gratitude of the American
Church.
With a special blessing, I remain
Very sincerely yours in Christ,
»{*£). Cardinal Falconio.
St. Joseph's Rectory.
Clarksville, Texas, May 14, 191 5.
To THE Editor of The Catholic World :
In the chorus of well-merited praise and congratulation which has hailed
the half-century anniversary of The Catholic World, I willingly join. My
father was among the earliest subscribers, and The World has been a valued
life-long friend. As a boy I read with eagerness and pleasure the translations
of Erckmann-Chatrian's The Conscript and The Invasion I found in the bound
volumes ; also such admirable original serials as The House of Yorke and Dion
and the Sibyls,
But permit me to call your attention to a doubtless unintentional but very
regrettable oversight in the historical sketches and reminiscences of Trs Catro-
uc World appearing in the recent numbers. It is strange that no one has
remembered to give credit or even to mention Mr. George Hecker, Father
Keeker's brother, in connection with the early years of the magatine. Mr.
Hecker was a successful business man, and, I believe, a convert of his illustrious
brother. Anyhow I distinctly recall seeing years ago in a notice of Father
Hecker by someone evidently familiar with the facts, that George Hecker
played a capital part in the financing of The World, and that without his
430 IVITH OUR READERS [June,
generous and frequent aid it would have been impossible to carry the magazine
through its critical years. Cui tributum, tributum.
With wishes for continued and increased usefulness for The Cathouc
World, I am Very sincerely yours,
George J. Reid.
We are pleased that the present correspondent has given us this
opportunity of testifying to the generous support which Mr. George
Hecker extended to The Catholic World in its early years. As
Father Reid says, it was Mr. Hecker's aid that made possible the
launching of the magazine. — [Ed. C. W.]
THE advance pages of the 191 5 Syllabus of the Catholic Summer
School show a most inviting and important series of lectures and
discussions. The Chairman of the Board of Studies merits our con-
gratulations. It would be impossible to reprint here the entire an-
nouncement covering the ten weeks of the session. We siunmarize the
lectures that are grouped under different departments.
Department op Education. — Director, Rev. Thomas McMillan, CS.P.
July nth. "A University in Print," by Rev. John J. Wynne, SJ.
July i8th. "Christian Belief, the Basis of Christian Practice," by Very
Rev. Edward G. Fitzgerald, O.P.
August 8th. Address by His Eminence William Cardinal CyConnell, Arch-
bishop of Boston.
August loth. "Education and Unrest," a Lecture by Hon. Thomas W.
Churchill
August i6th-20th. Five lectures on "The Church and Primary Education,"
by Rev. John W. Dillon.
August 23d. "University Extension," by John H. Finley, LL.D.
August 23d-27th. Five lectures on " Education," by John H. Haaren, Ph.D.
"Field Work in Nature Studies." A daily course at 4 p. m., beginning
July 26th and continuing four weeks, by Frederick L. Holtz, M.A., under the
direction of Gustave Straubenmuller, D.Lit
Department op Philosophy. — Director, Rev. Francis P. Siegfried.
July I9th-23d. Five lectures on "Logfical Theory," by Rev. John D.
Roach, M.A.
July 26th-30th. Five lectures on "The Great Truths of the Soul," by
Rev. Matthew Schumacher, CS.C.
Department of History and Travel. — Director, Rev. John J. Donlan, Ph.D.
July 5th-9th. Five lectures on "Famous Victories of the Church," by
Rev. Benjamin F. Teeling.
July 13th. " Catholics of the Eastern Rite in the United States," by Hon.
Andrew J. Shipman, LL,D.
July 26th-30th. Five lectures on "What Men were Doing and Thinking
when Columbus Discovered America," by James J. Walsh, M.D.
August 6th. "The Early Missions of California," by Edward B. Shal-
low, Ph.D.
August 9th- 13th. Five lectures on the Bible, by Rev. Walter Drum, S.J.
1915.I tVITH OUR READERS 431
August i6th-2oth. Five lectures on "The Racial Background of Euro-
pean History," by Rev. Robert Swickerath, SJ.
August I9th-20th. "Switzerland and the Hospice of St Bernard, Jeru-
salem and Oberammergau," by Miss E. Angela Henry.
August 22d. "Lincoln, the Ideal American," by Rt Rev. John L,
ReiUy, LL.D.
August 30th-3ist "Devotional Shrines of the New World and American
Patriotism," by Rev. James F. Irwin.
Department of the Political and Social Sciences. — Director, Rt Rev.
Monsignor M. J. Splaine, D.D.
July 4th. Patriotic address by Very Rev. John P. Chidwick, D.D.
July I2th. "The Church and Democracy," by Hon. W. Bourke G>ckran.
July 19th. "New York, the Great Electrical Metropolis," by Thomas E.
Murray.
July 20th. "The Development of the Foreign Trade of the United
States," by James A. FarrelL
July I9th-23d. "Five Lectures on "Social Legislation," by Rev. Edwin V.
CHara.
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July 27th. "Political Vagaries," by Hon. Thomas Carmody.
July 28th. "The Present Day Government of Cities," by Hon. George
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August 9th. Address by His Excellency Hon. Charles S. Whitman,
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ment of the United States," by Hon. John J. Fitzgerald.
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Department of Literature and Fine Arts. — Director, James J. Walsh, M.D.
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THE
CATHOLIC WORLD,
Vol. CI. JULY, 191 5. No. 604.
BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA.
BY ZACHEUS JOSEPH MAHER, S.J.
HEN the old Spanish caravels stood out for new seas
and new shores, and prows which till now had
headed north and south in quest of discovery and
adventure were dipped in western waters, side by
side with the daring mariner sailed the no less daring
f rian One ran up the royal ensign, the other held up the standard
of the Cross; one sought new lands for the crown, the other new
souls for Christ, and from out the first small boat that grounded
on a new found shore there leaped the cavalier and there stepped
the friar. The flag was unfurled, the Cross was raised, and there
on the beach to the boom of cannon and the roar of the sea Mass
was offered, and God was asked to bless the land and all that were
to dwell therein.
Be it said to the glory of Spain that she ever sought to Chris-
tianize her discoveries, or rather that she ever sought to discover
that she might Christianize. It was, therefore, but in accord with
the usual procedure that friars were found in Cortez's party when
he landed on the coast of Lower California in 1535. The Spaniards
scurried after gold, but the friars, mingled with the natives, tried
to tell them of God, of heaven, of the things of the soul. Diffi-
culties were overwhelmingly great, and after a year of fruitless
effort the friars were compelled to give up in sorrow.
Sixty years later a second attempt was made, determined and
persevering, but it too ended in failure. The Brown Robe had
come and labored and suffered and gone. Meanwhile Ignatius of
Loyola had founded the Society of Jesus, and filled it with a world-
Copyright. TOT5. Thb Missionary Society of St. Paul the Apostle
IN THE State of New York.
VOL. CI. — 28
434 BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA [July,
for-Christ conquering spirit. Its movements were swift and sure.
Ignatius planned, Xavier executed. In ten years it had spread over
Europe; in thirty it had entered Mexico, opened colleges, founded
missions, and soon counted 122,000 Indian converts. All this was on
the mainland. Across the gulf on the peninsula nothing was done
until the arrival of Fathers Salvatierra, S.J., and Kino, S.J., about
1680. Unfamiliar names these, yet the names of men who thought
out and set in motion that vast mission system which for one
hundred and fifty years was to creep steadily northward from Lower
California up past San Francisco to Solano, reaching out and
gathering in souls for Christ till it was crushed by a counter move-
ment which, in its last analysis, was planned by the supreme hater of
all that is holy and divine.
Kino was a German Tyrolese, whose real name was Kuehn,
mellowed by the soft-tongued Spaniards into Kino. A splendid
mathematician, he gave up his chair in the University of tngolstadt
for the missions. His first taste of California was had while acting
as royal surveyor to a party sent out to map the gulf coast. Deeply
struck with the misery of the natives, he asked permission to under-
take their conversion, but was refused.
Salvatierra was a Milanese, like Kino a university man, but
now fired with zeal for the spiritual welfare of the Califomians.
Kindred spirits these, but civil and religious superiors alike opposed
their plans; the country was a useless desert; the missions could
never support themselves; the government would not lend them
aid. Salvatierra met this difficulty with the determination to have
the missions endowed. He would beg. He would gather fimds
on the interest of which the missions could be maintained. In six
months generous Spaniards in Mexico had contributed forty-five
thousand dollars towards furthering his project. These funds Sal-
vatierra invested in certain holdings in Mexico City; they were
to belong to the missions, to be devoted exclusively to their support,
remaining under the administration of the procurator of the Jesuit
College in Mexico City. Thus was begun the famous Pious Fund,
destined to play so important a part in the foundation and upkeep
on every mission in Upper and in Lower California. Permission
was finally obtained to begin the work. Salvatierra and Kino threw
themselves into it with the pent-up fervor of ten prayerful years,
and founded the first California mission, Our Lady of Loreto, on
October 19, 1697.
Fifty thousand creatures, one is loath to call them men, then
1915.I BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA 435
existed on the peninsula. Whence they came they neither knew nor
cared; some said from a bird, others from a stone. Tall and
robust, dark with heavy features, they much resembled the Digger
Indians of Upper California, but differed in every way from the
highly civilized Aztecs. They built no wigwams, but lived in the
open, under a bush or behind a heap of stones. They cultivated
absolutely nothing. Day after day they searched for food, talked,
slept, then rose to search for food again. They were near-brutes,
eating anything and everything — roots, seeds, flesh of all kinds,
cats, rats, bats, owls, snakes, worms, caterpillars. " Nothing,*' a
missioner notes, " was thrown to the European pigs which the Cali-
fornia Indian would not gladly have eaten." Twenty-four pounds
of meat in twenty-four hours was not too much for one of them.
Sixty such gormandizers once consumed three steers in a night.
It will startle all the known commissions on hygiene to learn that
neither gout, apoplexy, chills, fever, small-pox nor venereal diseases
were known among these creatures before the white man came to
live among them. A California Indian never grew sick. He just
died. We have lifted a corner of the veil that hid their physical
degradation. We dare not do as much and show theif moral
wretchedness.
There was no law, no order among them. To quote our out-
spoken missioner again : " In government they resemble nothing
less than a herd of swine which runs about grunting, together to-day,
scattered to-morrow. They live as if they were free-thinkers and,
sdva venia, materialists." Family there was none. When the
young Calif omian had learned to catch mice and kill snakes, his
education was complete; it mattered little to him then whether he
had parents or no. He could count to three, at most to six, though
some say to twenty, certainly not beyond, for then fingers and toes
failed. Why count at all ? Whether they had five fingers or fifty
mattered little, the succession of days mattered less ; every day was
eating time, idling time; every night was sleeping time, dancing
time. They had no concept of a Supreme Being, no idols, no
temples, no ceremonies, no suspicion of the immortality of the soul.
Some tell of a belief among them strangely resembling the Incarna-
tion; of a creator of land and sea, one of whose three sons had
lived on earth and had been killed by the Indians. So write Fathers
Venegas and Clavijero, who never saw California, while Father
Baegert, a missioner of seventeen years residence there, states that
he could find no notion of a Supreme Being among them.
436 BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA [July,
Such were the creatures whom the Black Robe undertook to
Christianize in 1697. He won his way to their hearts by soothing
their stomachs. Any of them would listen to an instruction for
the sake of a meal, ready cooked and savory, but none of them was
willing to work. In sheer playfulness they would mimic the mis-
sioner as he fetched stones, mixed clay, felled timber, cleared the
ground, dug, plowed, herded cattle. All day long and day in and
day out, these priests, men of culture and refinement, toiled like
slaves, offering their labor as a prayer, that God might give the
Indians grace to see the truth and strength to follow it Wearied by
a day of toil they would gather the natives at eventide to instruct
them, and once more satisfy their craving for food. It was dis-
couraging work : the Indians were slow to understand, the Fathers
slow to baptize. Some they did baptize, but even these they could
not keep constantly at the mission. Lack of water and of arable
land precluded the establishment of pueblos or towns ; there could
not be that continued dwelling of neophytes round the church, so
necessary for successful missionary work, which we see in the
Reductions of Paraguay and in the missions of Upper California.
Some few, however, they managed to keep near them for weeks
at a time; these they would assemble in the church for morning
prayer. Mass and instruction. Breakfast followed, after which the
Indians went to mimic the patient missioner at work. A long rest
was enjoyed at noon; in the evening all again assembled in the
church to recite the rosary, litany and evening prayers. With
difficulty could the natives be induced to live in rude huts, with
greater difficulty could they be persuaded to clothe themselves.
Then of a sudden they would off to the mountains when the cactus
fruit was ripe, and what could the missioner do but receive them
kindly, and forget and forgive when the fruit was gone, and the
memory of the mission meals brought the wanderers back?
Though revolting to every finer sense, work among the Indians
ever attracted fresh recruits, who pushed northward into the
country, founding new missions as they advanced. The martyrdom
of two of their number inspired the others with greater love for a
work that might end in blood. We cannot give the results of their
labors in figures; records are wanting; this we do know: the
Jesuits in Lower California explored the whole peninsula. Kino
alone doing twenty thousand miles; rediscovered the Colorado's .
mouth; launched the first ship ever built in California; constructed
a wondrous system of aqueducts; raise4 cattle and crops where ^1
1915] BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA 437
the wise heads in Mexico said they must fail. Best of all they
founded eighteen missions and saved hundreds of souls. For six
decades of years, at varying times, fifty-six sons of Loyola had
labored forgotten and ignored, till of a sudden Don Caspar de
Portola arrived with peremptory orders to ship every one of them
back to Spain. It had been discovered in the highest court of a
Catholic country that men who had forsaken all to labor and sweat
as farmers, menials, and cattlemen, who had submitted to insults
the vilest, and had breathed in an atmosphere of physical and moral
filth that they might raise a tribe of Indians a few degrees above
the brute, and thus effect that the Blood of Jesus Christ might reach
and ransom a few more souls, were a danger to a king who hardly
knew of their existence, and a menace to a nation that had yet to
learn who they were and what they were doing. They were soldier-
priests, these sons of Loyola, and their password was "obey."
The clothes on their backs, three books in their hands, no more
they took away with them when they boarded their prison ship mid
the tears of their neophytes, who now had learned to love them.
The Black Robe had come and labored. He was led away a
prisoner of the crown. Consoling and comforting was the thought
that the ship which bore him away would return, carrying Fran-
ciscans to take up the sadly interrupted work.
The Brown Robe was coming back to his own, led by that
sweetest of western missioners, that self- forgetful, winning Francis
of the West, whom we all but dare to call a saint, Fra Junipero
Serra. Spain claims his birthplace in Majorca, but California
claims his resting place in the little Carmel Church in the lovely
Carmel valley, within sight and sound of the sea, under the clear
blue sky, down by the river side in the meadowland at the foot of the
purple hills of Monterey, where the c)rpress and the pine stand
eternal watchers at his tomb.
Difficult indeed was the task the Franciscans undertook: the
natives eyed them with suspicion, judged them supplanters of the
Black Robe, and friend of the civilians who had hastened to rob the
mission stores ; but the sweet spirit of their founder was with them
to win the love and the confidence of the natives. In three years
they baptized nearly 1,731 neophytes, blessed 787 marriages, and
buried 2,165 dead. Surely in the economy of grace the sufferings
of the Jesuits, who during these same years were being shipped
over the seas like cattle and flung into prisons like felons, went up a
mighty prayer to God, winning fresh graces for the Indians.
438 BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA [July,
It needed but a glimpse of Upper California to convince Juni-
pero Serra that the energy he and his friars were expending in
Lower California would produce greater fruit by far in Upper
California. Eager to begin, yet loath to abandon a work he had
but lately taken over, he gladly welcomed the Dominicans, who
offered to take complete charge of all the missions five years after
the Jesuits had been driven away. Faithfully the Dominicans
labored till 1840; constant friction with an irreligious government
wore down the mission chain, and one day it snapped asunder.
Mexico then, as Mexico now, was no lover of the Church, and was
restless till the work of Jesuits, Franciscans, and Dominicans in
Lower California lay a dismal ruin. We turn in sorrow from the
scene to view the marvels Serra wrought in Upper. California.
Cabrillo and Vizcaino had long ago sailed up the coast, how far
it is not to our present purpose to determine, and had claimed the
land for Spain. Russian boats came sailing down the Pacific
seeking sealing grounds and harbors. It was high time for Spain
to assert and maintain her claim. The country must be settled, the
natives subdued. Instead of soldiers, friars were requisitioned;
for flags the Cross; for forts a church; for the play of artillery
the organ peal and song and psalmody; for the deathlike grip of
war the loving kiss of Christian peace. The army that conquered
California for Spain numbered fifteen friars led by Junipero Serra,
who came up overland and founded the first mission in the present
State of California on July 16, 1769. This was at San Diego, the
first of that long series of missions whose crumbling ruins to-day
tell of the enterprise and devotion of the friars of a century and a
half ago. They found themselves in a wondrously lovely land.
" Many flowers and beautiful,'* notes Serra, " and to-day I have the
queen of them all, the Rose of Castile."
This fair land was fair in all that lived in it but man. There
was no one tribe in the land, no great nation as Iroquois or Mohawk.
Neither were the Indians possessed of those physical characteristics
that force us to admire the Indians of the East. Twin brother of
the Lower California Indian, he was slow, sluggish, immoral, inex-
pressibly filthy. " In not one of the missions," Padre Palou has
left in writing, " was there found any idolatry, but only a negative
infidelity." Father Engehardt, O.F.M., notes in his Missions and
Missionaries in California: " The California savage had no religion
whatever. Of the pure and reasonable worship of the Creator he
had no conception. As he, brute like, aimed only at filling himself
1915.] BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA 439
and gratifying his animal instincts, the subject did not interest him."
Yet the friars saw in these poor creatures naught but a soul to be
saved, a heart to be won, and a body to be trained to labor. The
tendency to-day is to call the padres humanizers, working for the up-
lift of the race, and to honor them as such. The friars were all this
and more, for they had the secret of all uplift, the Cross, which was
itself lifted up with its Precious Burden, and must be lifted up and
set in the heart before the race of red men or of white can be led
out of the darkness of a paganism, refined or barbarous, intellectual
or physical, and brought to the light of a nobler Christian manhood.
A study of the methods followed by the friars must be of
interest, for the results obtained were marvelous. The site of a
future mission was not chosen at random ; arable land was sought,
abundance of water and good pasture. Each mission at its founda-
tion received one thousand dollars from the Pious Fund, each friar
an annual stipend of four hundred dollars, and to the members
of the Society of Jesus it has ever been pleasant to think that not a
mission was founded in either California that was not due in this
little measure to the early efforts of their own Father Salvatierra.
Yet the money never reached the friars as money : every last peso
went to purchase farming implements, iron- ware and supplies ; the
balance went to pay the freight, for the ships would carry nothing
gratis for the friars or for God.
All the buildings were erected on a similar plan. A square
was laid off; the church erected in one comer; next it the friars'
residence, into which women and girls were never admitted; then
the dwelling for Indian boys who acted as domestics; then shops,
granaries and stables forming the sides of the square. In the rear
was the " monjerio," the so-called nunnery for girls under twelve
who were whole orphans, for unmarried girls over twelve, and for
wives whose husbands were away. The intensely carnal passions
of the Indians made these precautions necessary. Here the " mon-
jas " were locked in at night by a trusty matron; during the day
they could go about visiting friends and relatives, or might, if they
chose, stay at the mission learning the tasks of Martha. The build-
ing material employed was adobe, a kind of day. This was
moistened, mixed with a little straw, moulded like bricks and then
baked in the sun. The neophytes became experts in the making of
these bricks. Under the guidance of the friars, the mission style of
architecture was evolved — ^how simple, practical and substantial the
mission churches themselves declare.
440 BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA [July,
The kindness of the padres could not fail to quiet the early
fears of the Indians. They came seeking for food. Why should
they wander searching for rats and roots when they could have more
and a-plenty if they sat down and heard a man talk for an hour?
So they clustered round the friar, who told the story of creation
and redemption. Once baptized the Indian was scarcely ever al-
lowed to leave the mission. This had to be. Left to himself the
Indian will at once revert to his former habits, the little learned
will be quickly forgotten. To save his soul he had to be kept near
the mission; to keep him near the mission he had to be fed; to
feed him and teach him to care for himself in a manner differing
from that of the brute, this was the task to which the Franciscans
now addressed themselves.
The neophytes were largely employed in agriculture, but besides
they were taught cattle raising, the care of sheep and various
trades: carpentry, blacksmithing, the making of bricks, tiles,
saddles, candles, soap, etc. In every task the versatile friar was
the master; there he stood in his coarse brown robe guiding the
plow, forging, building, planting, herding cattle, made all things to
his neophytes that he might gain them all to Christ. His bodily
needs thus cared for, the Indian was content to dwell at the mission.
To reach his dull mind and impress upon it the chief truths of
religion, the padres made free use of pictures, paintings, processions.
The beautiful liturgy of the Church was carried out in all its
grandeur. Visitors to the missions to-day are struck by the rich-
ness and completeness of the liturgical equipment, while the paint-
ings on the ceilings and walls of the churches tell them, as they
told the neophytes, forcibly, albeit crudely and in vivid color, of
death, hell, purgatory, and the mysteries of religion.
In spite of all this instruction few of the natives could under-
stand the meaning of the Blessed Sacrament; consequently the
reception of the Holy Eucharist was not frequent among them,
except of course, as Viaticum. As time went on the children,
always objects of the friars' special care, sang at Mass, at Vespers,
and at Benediction. Sweet indeed and peaceful were the Sundays
at the missions when the silver bells rang out over quiet vale and
meadow, calling all to morning prayer and Mass, to Vespers and to
evening prayer, all in sweet succession. Had it but remained so,
what an Eden California would have been! Yet withal excesses
were to be expected, the more so as the white man mingled with the
red. For various faults gentle reprehension was at first used, then
19IS.] BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA 441
persuasion. To lock an Indian up was useless; nothing pleased
him better, for it freed him from work. Hence fasts were imposed,
hard labor too, and for grosser carnal crimes the lash, but never
with the fierceness which the bigots assert. The number of strokes
was fixed by law at twenty-five; nor were they ever administered
by the friar himself; never without a trial; never more than once
a day; never more than once for the same offence. This punish-
ment was first introduced by the Jesuits in Lower California, who
found it the only way to make the natives feel that to do certain
things was very wrong indeed.
Such was the life, such the system adopted at each of the
twenty-one missions founded in quick succession during fifty-four
years. God blessed the friars and their work. In the height of
their prosperity they harbored, clothed and fed 30,000 neoph)rtes at
one time, while the combined missions owned 268,000 sheep, 232,000
head of cattle, 34,000 horses, 8,300 goats, 3,500 mules, and 3,400
swine. These figures become all the more striking when we reflect
that there had been no live stock of any kind in California before
Junipero Serra drove a small herd up from Lower California, when
he came to found the missions just fifty years before this time.
The friars, however, were not left to follow their methods in
peace. Greedy officials hungered for the mission goods, and snapped
at the padres who kept them at bay. For this they were called
misers, self-seekers, greedy for gold, they, the barefoot sons of
poor St. Francis, who had sworn a solemn oath never to possess
a peso, who spent their yearly pittance buying tools for the Indians,
whose rule would not allow them to indulge in the luxury of ox-cart
transportation. They meekly bore the slander and the lie, but when
inroads were made on the mission goods, then they showed their
mettle. Mission goods were Indian goods; to touch them was to
wrong the Indian, and as long as the Franciscans had a pen to
write and a tongue to speak, without fear of consequence to self,
they protested against the injustice done their neophytes.
Yet there was a subtler opposition behind it all. To see its cause,
for its effect was all too pitiful, one must go back to the libraries
of France where Voltaire and the Encyclopedists thought out their
false philosophy of life; of the equality of man, of liberty, frater-
nity, and the rest. Their ideas were caught up in France, carried
over to Spain, whence they spread even to Mexico, influencing the
political situation there as elsewhere. Secularization of the mis-
sions was the form it took in Mexico. Secularization was said to
442 BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA [July,
be the emancipation of the Indian. He was on a lower social scale ;
he was equal to the white and must live as the white; his liberty
was hampered by the friars; he must be given freedom, for all
men are bom free; the friars must give way to the secular clergy;
community life at the mission must stop; towns must be built; the
Indians elect their own officials and govern themselves; the lands
and goods divided among the Indians in a way that left the major
portion by far at the disposal, of the government. This was called
secularization. A shorter name and a more proper would have
been: theft.
The friars protested vigorously, not indeed to the coming of
the secular clergy, for wearied with the incessant annoyance and
interference, they had asked this long ago, but on account of the
injustice done the Indian, All the cattle, all the land, all the
harvests were the Indians'. No Franciscan ever harvested a head
of wheat or crushed a grape that he or his Order might be the richer.
All they did they did as a means to the end, and that end was the
salvation of the Indian. The world cannot understand this, for this
is the spirit of Christ, not of the world. It was all to no avail.
Mexico had now declared itself independent of Spain, and California
accepted the new order of things. The grand old flag of Spain was
lowered at Monterey fifty-three years after it had been raised by
Portola. It fell as it rose, bloodlessly.
The political history of California during the next quarter
century would be ludicrous were it not lawless. New governors
were set up and old ones deposed after revolutions, in which never
a gun was fired nor a man injured; street brawls, family differ-
ences, installed new officials. In the interior of the State the Bear
Flag Republic sprang into being, and a United States army man,
Fremont, so far forgot himself as to assume its presidency. What
cared the Spanish-Calif ornian who ruled the land? As long as
luscious grapes blushed purple in a setting silver green, as long as
his fields went rippling away in golden laughter up to the mountain
side where his sleek cattle grazed, what cared he who rattled his
sabre, wore gold lace, and issued manifestoes at Monterey? He
would swear by any governor, any constitution ; and so he kept on
swearing. When Commodore Jones, of the United States Navy,
sailed into Monterey and raised the Stars and Stripes on his own
authority, he would have sworn by Jones, had not Jones concluded
that he made a big mistake, and sailed away before the gay hidalgo
had had a chance to swear.
1915] BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA 443
What could the friars do mid these incessant changes? They
feared for their missions, and prayed for their neophytes, for evil
days were come upon them. Each new governor agreed with his
predecessor only in meddling with the missions, drawing on their
stores without any intention of payment, and pushing secularization
ahead, till even the California Indian, who was no warrior and
much too lazy to be angry, rose in rebellion at Santa Barbara.
Then the friar stood for authority, such as it was, and taught the
Indian to obey, while he once more showed the government the
injustice of its policy. It was useless. Officials tampered with
the missions till 1845, when Pio Pico stole and sold as never pirate
stole at sea.
Mission La Purissima, worth $67,000 ten years earlier, went to
John Temple for $1,100. Capistrano, which but thirteen years
before had owned 11,000 head of cattle and 5,000 sheep, went to
Messrs. McKinley and Wilson for $700. Soledad, with 10,000
sheep and 7,000 cattle thirteen years previous, was sold for $800,
and so on through the sad litany; interference had depreciated the
missions, these sales ruined them. Appraised at $2,000,000 in
1832 they were estimated at $150,000 in 1845. What cannot be
stated in figures is the spiritual ruin this brought upon the Indian.
For seventy-six years, at varying intervals, one hundred and
forty-six noble sons of St. Francis had labored in California; two
had died as martyrs, and now their work was all undone. Under
their care and guidance, encouraged by their example and won by
their sweetness, the worthless Indian had harvested 2,200,000
bushels of wheat, 850,000 bushels of com, $00,000 bushels of barley,
160,000 bushels of beans, and 100,000 bushels of lentils. No
record was kept of fruits, grapes, and other commodities. Had
the friars done naught but this, they would deserve full meed of
praise, for in doing this they have given a world, that will not see,
another proof of the elevating influence of the Catholic religion,
of its power for the spiritual and material welfare of man with
another demonstration of what a handful of " lazy monks " can do
while idling.
But the Franciscans did more. They baptized 90,000 Indians,
blessed 27,000 marriages, buried 70,000 dead. All honor to the
Brown Robe! He taught the Indian to serve his God and honor
his ruler; he taught him to respect himself; he taught him trades
and agriculture; he explored the State; built roads and aqueducts;
brought in live stock, fruits and grapes and wheat and com; and
for this his missions are ruined; the lands plundered; his neophytes
444 BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA [July,
disbanded and driven to die away in the mountains. And what had
he to say? Only this: " You ask me who caused the ruin of the
missions? As one who saw and suffered, I can try to close my eyes
that they may not see the evil done, and my ears that they may not
hear the wrongs endured." Sweet spirit of Francis, living, for-
giving in your sons even as in yourself !
Here we must weave in the story of the Pious Fund. We
noted its beginnings by Father Salvatierra in 1697. It totaled some
$400,000 in 1784, while in 1842 it was appraised at $1,435,033.
On the suppression of the Society of Jesus, under whose care it had
been till that time, the King of Spain acted as trustee of the ftmd,
to be succeeded by the Mexican government in 1821. Too sweet a
morsel to be placed where it might not be nibbled at at will, Santa
Anna declared the property formally incorporated into the national
treasury, and ordered the sale of the real estate, acknowledging an
indebtedness of six per cent on the total proceeds of the sale.
Thus matters stood when Commodore Sloat, of the United
States Navy, sailed into Monterey Bay and raised our flag over
the government house, though war with Mexico had not been
declared. War did come, and as a result California was ceded by
Mexico, July 4, 1848. With California thus lost to her, Mexico
ceased paying any share of the proceeds of the Pious Fund to the
missions of Upper California. The bishops protested before the
American and Mexican Mixed Claims Commission in 1869. Sir
Edward Thornton, the umpire, decided for the bishops in 1875,
awarding them $904,070 in Mexican gold, it being twenty-one
years accumulated interest ('48-'69) — $43,050 per annum, or six
per cent of one-half the capitalized value of $1,435,033; for it had
been decided that the proper mode of division would be to yield
half the income to Upper and half to Lower California for the
missions. Mexico paid the award, stating at the same time that she
considered the claim settled in toio, and made a last payment in
this sense in 1890. Naturally the bishops demurred, and claimed
payment of interest due since 1869. The case was finally settled
in The Hague ; it being the first international claim there arbitrated.
Mexico was thereby compelled to pay the United States $1,420,-
682.67 Mexican, this being the interest accumulated from 1869 ^^
1902. She must, moreover, annually and perpetually pay the
United States, on the second of February, $43,050.99 in money
having currency in Mexico. This sum is divided between the
bishops of California. A like sum is due the Church in Mexico.
Does Villa pay? Does Carranza?
iQiS] BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA 445
The United States Commission on Indian affairs tells our
mission story in four words : " Conversion, civilization, neglect,
outrage; the conversion and civilization were the work of the
missionary Fathers, the outrage and neglect mainly our own."
The beginning of this outrage and neglect hastened the death
of the first Bishop of California, Diego y Moreno, who appointed a
Franciscan to be his administrator. The rush for gold was now on ;
that frenzied struggle with man and beast and sand and snow and
mountain and plain; that wild scramUe up the Rockies and down
the Sierras ; that mad race to pan the gold that had glistened in the
California river beds for ages. There were but eight priests in the
State; help must be had from somewhere. In God's providence
it was to come from that same Black Robe who had laid the first
foundations of the mission system that now lay in ruins all along
the Gulf and up the coast. He came down from the north, from
among the Couer d'Alene and the Flatheads, the Spokane and the
Gros Ventres, where the great de Smet had founded the Oregon
Mission.
Fathers Nobili and Accolti set sail for California on St.
Xavier's day, and passed through the Golden Gate on the night of the
Immaculate Conception, 1849. " So that," writes Father Accolti,
" the next day we were able to set foot on the longed-for shores of
what goes under the name of San Francisco, but which, whether it
should be called madhouse or Babylon, I am at a loss to determine,
so great is the disorder, the brawling, the open immorality, the
reign of crime which, brazen-faced, triumphed on a soil not yet
brought under the sway of human laws."
Meanwhile a new bishop had been consecrated for California,
a Dominican, Joseph Sadoc Alemany. On the nineteenth of March,
1 85 1, he placed Father Nobili in charge of the abandoned Santa
Qara Mission. Eighteen years earlier it had counted 1,125 ^^^
phytes in its mission family; on the eve of that St. Joseph's day
" The church and ornaments were sadly out of repair," notes Father
Nobili, " the few buildings attached that were not either sold, be-
stowed or filched away, were in a condition of dismal nakedness
and ruin, the gardens, vineyards and orchard were in the hands of
swindlers and squatters." The 10,000 cattle, 10,000 sheep, and
1,000 horses had been led away. Here then on ground prepared
by Franciscans, at the behest of a Dominican Archbishop, did the
Jesuit Father Nobili, with one hundred and fifty dollars in his
pocket, and unbounded trust in Providence, lay the first beginnings
of Santa Clara College.
446 BLACK ROBES AND BROWN IN CALIFORNIA [July,
The Turin Province of the Society of Jesus took over the
rising mission, and sent as helpers exiled subjects who were working
in the East ; Father Masnata, rhetoric professor at Frederick, Mary-
land; Father Messea, chemistry professor at St. Louis, Missouri,
and Father Maraschi, philosophy professor at Loyola, Baltimore.
The two former went to Santa Clara, the latter remained in San
Francisco, seeking a site for a church and college. " Build it over
there," said His Grace with a sweeping gesture. " Over there "
were rolling sand dunes, shifting sands that sank into the sea.
Father Maraschi (whom everyone called Muraskey) built "over
there" right in line of the onward march of the city. Thirty
years after purchase he sold the site for ninety times its cost.
Seventy-five days after purchase the Church of St. Ignatius was
blessed; ninety days later a college was opened — a college with
classics, science, and philosophy in the rollicking, happy-go-lucky,
devil-may-care city of San Francisco in the days of '55. Nobili
at Santa Clara, Maraschi at San Francisco, and the Black Robe had
returned to California; returned, led on by the pressing invitation
of the Brown Robe.
The Brown Robe never left the State ; praying at Santa Barbara
Mission he waited happier times ; to-day he is working everywhere
up and down the coast, yet he holds but two of his twenty-two
missions. His modest figure is loved by all in California. We
treasure every mission ruin as a shrine for pilgrimage; we are
retracing the old mission road, the El Camino Real, and in lieu of
mile posts we hang up mission bells, out in the valley, up in the
mountain, marking mile by mile the road that Serra trod from San
Diego up to San Francisco. Even in the heart of the great city,
where the rush for gold is as mad as it was in '49, all stop and
pause a moment for a mission bell is being hung; it marks a mile
on the road to San Rafael. There he stands above the crowd,
brown-robed son of poor St. Francis, symbol of all that is deepest
in faith, purest in love, noblest in self-sacrifice. He blesses the bell,
and bids it swing out and tell the passersby that in the long ago
his barefoot brothers gave up home and self, and all they held most
dear, to care for the body and save the soul of the California
Indian. Theirs was the highest altruism, for those are the noblest
of our race, truest friends of their fellowman, greatest benefactors
of society, who shape their lives in imitation of the gentle Son of
God, Who cured all ills of body, and then laid down His life to
save the soul.
EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS.
BY EDMUND T. SHANAHAN, S.T.D.
III.
J Y second interview with the Muse of history put my
complacent self-assurance to the blush. Not many
words were spoken before I found myself parting
company with the cherished illusions of a lifetime —
those learned prejudices with which education —
blessed word! — had stunted my growth of spirit. Let me make a
frank confession. I looked forward to the interview with a sort
of mental chuckle. My hostess, I felt sure, would pit the past
against the future, sing, in a key high-pitched, of man's ancient
glories, and dismiss the present lightly as so much glitter and tinsel
mistaken for real gold. Hers would be Moore's refrain :
To check young Genius' proud career,
The slaves, who now his throne invaded.
Made Criticism his prime Vizir,
And from that day his glories faded.
Nothing of the kind came even near to happening, but a line
of thought quite other than my smirking forecast drew. The inter-
view proved neither a jeremiad nor a rhapsody. Instead of array-
ing itself in mourning weeds, as I thought it would, or putting on
the mantle of. the prophet, as is the case with most folk nowadays
when they speak or write on progress, the conversation of my
venerable hostess avoided both of these emotional extremes and took
to the steadier paths of analysis and reflection. She pried the no-
tion of progress apart into its several component elements, devoted
special attention to each in turn, carefully abstained from mani-
festing partiality of choice towards any in particular, and then pro-
ceeded to piece them all together again into an interacting, har-
monious whole, pretty much after the fashion of a jeweler mending
a timepiece or a skilled mechanic overhauling an engine.
This piecing-together process was no part of the game of think-
ing as I had been taught to play it. Whenever I discovered an as-
pect or a feature that seemed to me illuminating and suggestive, no
matter what the topic under consideration, I stopped analyzing then
and there, too overjoyed with my new-found partial discovery to
448 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [July,
study it in relation to the whole from which I had wantonly de-
tached it, as a vandal tears from a book the page that contained
matter to his liking. My folly stood out before me now in accus-
ing clearness ; and the patronizing pedant within me — what modem,
pray, who does not entertain this evil. angel unawares? — stirred
uneasily on his throne and reached for his fallen sceptre. The
method of analyzing a subject completely before coming to any de-
cision in its regard ; the thought of letting the fruits of judgment
ripen before I plucked them from the tree of knowledge — to such
habits of mind as these I was a total stranger, as also to that other
which consists in remembering that if analysis sees things in a
broken mirror, synthesis is capable of seeing them in a mirror that
is whole. What if a jeweler or skilled mechanic, I said to myself,
took the same liberties with a watch or engine as I had been ac-
customed to take with the parts of an idea. The question was self-
answering.
Like most moderns, I had been trained to love false contrasts
from my youth — it was my stock^in-tfade ; and among these none
really counted for more in my estimation than the glib statement
of the phrase-makers, that the golden age was over and gone for
the ancients, whereas for us it is ever yet to be. It used to suit
my fancy to picture the great folk of olden days as looking back
wistfully with a sigh every time the thought of human perfection
came wandering into their consciousness; although that Fourth
Eclogue of Virgil's, and the noble note of expectancy it struck,
upbraided me often for the wrong I did the dead by my overhasty
generalization. There was Israel, too, to be considered, and some-
times I felt how unjust it was to regard its exceptional people as
having nothing of the future in their gaze, especially since almost
the very first chapter of their sacred books spoke of Shiloh, the
Expected of the nations, Who was to come. These intruding doubts
I dismissed as " scientific heresy," banishing them from my pur-
view as details too paltry to halt the encircling sweep of my favorite
assumption.
You see, I was taught to regard Christianity as so associated
with the doctrine of man fallen and corrupt, that it stood com-
pletely out of harmony with science on the question of human pro-
gress. I never troubled to investigate this supposed antagonism —
and there lay the most humiliating part of my sudden self -disclosure.
I stood revealed to myself in the unscholarly light of a dealer in
second-hand information who knew not whereof he spoke, nor the
igiSl EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 449
value of the ideas wherein he bartered, yet pinned his faith to
aphorisms and hung his coat on moonbeams, notwithstanding. I
had forgotten the forward look which Christianity brought into the
world, through Him of Nazareth, the fulfillment of the old, the
pledge and promise of all the new — from the days when the idols
of heathendom fell from their niches, to the days when idols not
made of hands, but of pride and self-sufficiency, shall come crashing
down from their pedestals in modem minds like mine. I felt out of
sorts with myself for having been the dupe of phrases, and I knew
Aat if Gideon had asked poor me for the password, I, too, should
have lain among the impostors whom he slew at the ford. What
a dolt I was ever to have imagined — ^pest take these wordy con-
jurers ! — ^that the religion of Christ stood with its face to the past,
its back to the future — ^a fixity that knew no life. And I was
thinking all these things to myself — no echo, surely, of what the
Muse was saying, but an unpleasant chapter from my own ex-
perience — when it suddenly occurred to me that I might as well
save these reflections for future nmiination and pay undivided at-
tention in the meanwhile to the ideas which my hostess was un-
expectedly developing with point and power.
" The most striking thing about progress," so her first words
ran, " is its intermittency. This fact defies successful contradiction,
and has made no end of trouble for the meliorist and his theory of
man's slow but steady rise. Bear this fact of intermittency in
mind when discoursing on progress and you will never see your con-
clusions overleap the bounds of truth and sanity ; palliate it, slur it
over, or stare its significance out of countenance, and you will live
in a world of dreams from which all saving sense of reality has de-
parted. Look where you may in history, nothing even remotely
suggestive of an unchecked universal tendency towards perfection
will cross your line of vision. Some peoples remain stationary for
centuries, as in the East; and their recent reawakening— due to
influences from without — ^but serves to show by contrast how long
they were able to continue slumbering undisturbed. Other peoples
exhibit symptoms of having fallen from a former high estate, as is
the case with the Australian blacks — reputed lowest in the human
scale — ^who have a language developed far and away beyond their
present needs, and as flexible in its case-endings, moods, and tenses
as cither Greek or Latin. Evidently they once were not as now they
are, these children of the dusk — a shocking revelation to the
meliorist with his vi$ioD of a humanity everywhere and always on
VOL. Cl.— 2p
450 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [July,
the road to betterment. Still other peoples have climbed and stood
palpitating on the heights — burying their records there for future
climbers to unearth. The civilization of Greece and Rome rose
like new planets in the sky and moved slowly across it to their
setting, much to the wonderment of the duller-minded, less energetic
neighboring folk whose stars were all of lesser magnitude. For
decadence look at Syria, Egypt, Mesopotamia, Northern Africa,
Asia Minor — all now reduced to shadowy ghosts of their erstwhile
selves.
" Of all the civilizations that have come and gone, leaving, as it
were, no posterity behind them, only one bears about it an)rthing
like the marks of a continuous movement. I refer to the civiliza-
tion which first started on the banks of the Mediterranean and
thence spread over the continent of Europe in a growing richness of
life and power; now, unhappily, in a state of suspended animation,
owing to the fact that its beneficiaries have left the ways of the
builder for those of the destroyer and taken to the field, accoutred
in the grim panoply of men at arms. Two peoples of old were
chiefly instrumental in building up this Mediterranean civilization
from which the modem is descended — the Greeks and the Romans.
Out of the entire mass of humanity overspreading the earth in their
day, in comparison with which they were very small in point of num-
bers and territory occupied, these two peoples lit the torch that has
since flamed high, though not everywhere, by any means, nor without
considerable flickering even within the area of its first enkindling.
' This unique phenomenon,' says a thoughtful and brilliant French-
man, 'is in close relation of space and time with another phenomenon
equally unique and of a higher order — the displacement, namely, of
the ancient belief in gods many, by the worship of the one true God,
and its establishment in the world. Greece and Rome, the two
powers of antiquity that worked for the progress of mankind, pre-
pared the way for the coming of Christianity. It was in the
languages of these two nations, no less than in the sacred tongue of
Israel, that the inscription on the Cross of the Saviour was written.
Besides, all the modem nations among which this dominant, world-
conquering civilization has developed are Christian nations. We
are, therefore, led to ask if this continuity of progress, which is con-
fined to one corner of the world — which forms, as it were, a
special and exceptional current in the great stream of history, has no
close relationship with the birth and growth of Christianity.'^
" The theory of the meliorists that progress is inevitable, uni-
^ Religion et Critique. De Broglie-Piat, p. 299.
I9IS.] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 451
versal, and continuous breaks down completely when forced to face
the host of counter facts mobilized and marshalled against it in the
present and preceding interview. A theory so unbending has no sup-
port in history, experience, or reason, argue as men may to secure
a foothold for it. Decadence is every whit as indestructible an
attribute of the human race as the faculty of making progress ; and
all attempts to make these two possibilities appear as one have
simply courted the task of proving the impossible and failed. Inter-
mittency ! Let the meliorist face this towering fact of history and
lay it low before asking us to accept the view that humanity never
halts, never retreats, but ever presses on, unfaltering, to that one
far-off divine event towards which the whole creation moves.
Putting man under the magnifying-glass of optimism and emotion
will not change the double tides within his being, nor make him
single-minded in his ways and aims. Things as they are and have
been are not things as we would have them be ; and it would be well
for all of us if we were more historical and less prophetical in the
estimates we form of ourselves individually and of mankind in
general. It will not help matters to imagine that an escalator exists,
dispensing us from the trouble of climbing the stairway to perfec-
tion step by step ourselves. Labor-saving devices are tmknown in
the trade of character-building. We are not so fortunately situated
in the matter of making progress as was the fly mentioned in one of
La Fontaine's fables — a story that will bear reperusal for its point.
Idly perched on the axle of an ox-wagon which was slowly crunch-
ing its way up a particularly steep road in the hills^ — ^the beasts of
burden puffing and panting the while under their increasing task —
mister fly drew in a long breath of relief when the siunmit was
finally reached, and exclaimed in the most fatigued voice imaginable :
Enfin nous y sommes! At last we are there ! The oxen must have
had a different notion of progress. But what they thought of the
fly's inexpensive sympathy is unfortunately not recorded.
Come to me for wisdom, said the mountain ;
In the valley and the plain
There is knowledge dimmed with sorrow in the gain.
There is EflFort, with its hope like a fountain.
There the chained rebel. Passion :
Laboring strength and fleeting fashion;
There Ambition's leaping flame,
And the iris-crown of Fame;
But those gains are dear forever
Won from loss and pain and fever.
452 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS f July,
Nature's gospel never changes:
Every sudden force deranges ;
Blind endeavor is not wise :
Wisdom enters through the eyes;
And the Seer is the Knower,
Is the Doer and the Sower.
Come to me for riches, said the peak ;
I am leafless, cold, and calm.
But the treasures of the lily and the palm —
They are mine to bestow on those who seek.
I am gift and I am Giver
To the verdured fields below,
As the motherhood of snow
Daily gives the new-born river.
As a watcher on a tower.
Listening to the evening hour,
Sees the roads diverge and blend,
Sees the wandering currents end
Where the moveless waters shine
On the far horizon line —
All the storied Past is mine ;
All its strange beliefs still clinging ;
All its singers and the singing;
All the paths that led astray;
All the meteors once called day ;
All the stars that rose to shine —
Come to me — for all are mine!
" No, the progress of humanity is limited, partial, intermittent,
variable, local; not everywhere and always a rising stream. So
ill founded a notion as this latter could only come from viewing
man through a foreign medium — the general laws of Nature —
instead of studying him directly and specially in himself. A cer-
tain school of modem thought looks on the universe as a sort of
'blind mole casting copped hills towards heaven,' among which hilly
upheavals they reckon those passing apparitions that assume the
form and shape of individual men. Born of the enthusiasm aroused
in the eighteenth century by the doctrine of the Rights of Man, and
given a new impetus by the rapid discoveries which science almost
immediately began to make — not to mention the high hopes enter-
tained, of a social and political development which was to rise.
Phoenix-like, from the ashes of the old regime — ^the notion that
progress is inevitable soon won for itself such an ascendancy over
1915] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 453
the human spirit as to make all other thoughts seem trivial in com-
parison. The idea spread like wildfire, and it is still dominant in
secular thought, though signs of its relaxing hold have begun to
make themselves apparent. Progress is a force, an energy, a driv-
ing-power, an elan vital, they tell us, these new Finalists ; and we
know not one moment whitherward the next shall drive us in its
madness ; all we can do is to fold our arms, like Benjamin Constant,
and watch the strange procession of events as it passes — ^ideas turn-
ing into movements, and movements into ideas again, only to resume
their fated rounds of alteration after a temporary lull. It is
progress that makes us, not we that make progress, in the eyes of
this reigning school. The world is a magic lantern show, and
humanity but the changing audience assisting at a continuous per-
formance, bereft of all power to penetrate behind the flitting scenes.
" False visions such as these, all come, as has been said, from
studying man, not in himself immediately but through the world
about him — ^a most deficient mirror, surely, of creation's king, and
a decidedly alien medium in which to view him. Physics, me-
chanics, biology have their place, and none will say them nay within
its bounds. But when any one of these particular sciences aspires
to world-dominion and essays the task of explaining things that
lie beyond its province, it is time to remind the ambitious theory-
builders of the proverb concerning the shoemaker and his last. No
mechanical, physical, or biological formula can be found for man's
mental life. The psychic energies there made manifest are not
reducible to the kind we see playing over the surface of the deep
or at work in the flowers of the field. The solidarity of the mental
and the physical in man must not be mistaken for identity. Things
may be solidary without being the same — spirit is not matter, even
though the two be the boonest of companions and act hand in glove.
Humanity is deserving of separate and distinct consideration as
being amenable to laws peculiarly its own, which mark it off from
the rest of Natufe — ^that 'diapason ending full in Man.' We cannot
always 'by direction find direction out ;' we must make straight our
paths of query, or find ourselves landed by argument whither we
would not when we started. To institute comparisons is all very
well, provided we first investigate, distinctly and directly in
themselves, the things compared. Let us do so here, approaching
man through man, not through the world that hems him in as to
body, yet imprisons not his soul. A different picture from that
drawn by the hopeless, grim idolaters of chance awaits us, when
we shift from the indirect to the direct point of view. Progress, so
454 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [July,
far from being a thing foredoomed to come, whether we fold our
arms or put our shoulder to the plow, will appear as a child of
liberty, not of necessity ; the result, in other words, of the free and
full use man makes of his many inherent powers, in conjunction with
a vast number of his fellowmen like-minded with himself. Once
the problem is taken out of the physical realm of law and necessity,
it becomes intensely human — something it has not been for many a
long day, because of the fact that man has not been studied in the
original version, but translated into the terms of some other science
than the one which should deal with him primarily and of right.
" Only the other day I was saying to Urania — she is the Muse
in charge of the sciences, you know, and is all wrought up over
biology — ^that I thought it would be much better for her and her
many Myrmidons if they did not mix natural history with human so
continually, but kept the two, as they rightfully should be, distinct.
You see, I said to her, man has an inherent capacity for self 'direc-
tion which must not be forgotten in any theory we would frame of
the way he acts. The fault with your biologists, I continued, is
that they carry over into the human domain a set of laws and
principles which are found operating in the animal and flowery
kingdoms where the ability to shape one's course and plan it does
not figure among the factors of development. She waxed wroth
at this, and politely informed me that I was forgetting heredity,
which made this so-called capacity for self -direction a negligible
quantity.
" Not at all, was my rejoinder. Heredity is not the transmis-
sion of qualities or characteristics, whether mental or physical,
from parents to offspring, as you seem to imagine. That idea of it
is exploded. Heredity is a growing thing, not a dead chattel be-
queathed us by our sires. So far from doing away with man's
capacity for self-direction, heredity merely furnishes special ma-
terial on which to exercise that power. It is not a transmission, it
is a reacquisition, and where a thing is in process of being acquired
anew, the heir is, to some extent, at least, free to decline his heir-
loom and develop along lines of his own choosing. Otherwise
the sons and daughters of highly moral parents would never go
wrong, or a Tess of d'Urberville escape the hangman's noose. I
fear you have become entangled in the false impression, that hered-
ity is a deterministic something over which we have no dominion or
control. Let me read you a disillusioning passage which will show
that, like many others, you have mistaken the name for the thing.
" *A son may inherit a house from his father and a farm from
1915] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 455
his mother, the house and farm remaining the same, though the
ownership has passed from parents to son. And when it is said that
a son inherits his stature from his father and his complexion from
his mother, the stature and complexion are usually thought of otdy
in their developed condition, while the great fact of development
is temporarily forgotten. Of course, there are no " qualities " or
" characteristics " which are " transmitted " as sxich from one
generation to the next. Such terms are not without fault when used
merely as figures of speech, but when interpreted literally, as they
frequently are, they are altogether misleading; they are the result of
reasoning about names rather than facts, of getting far from phe-
nomena and philosophizing about them. The comparison of
heredity to the transmission of property from parents to children
has produced confusion in the scientific as well as in the popular
mind. It is only necessary to recall the most elementary facts about
development to recognize that in a literal sense parental character-
istics are never transmitted to children.'* So you see, I said to
Urania, laying the page down, I was not forgetting heredity when
I declared that man has a capacity for self-direction which must be
taken into special account, else all our conclusions concerning him
will go egregiously awry.
"'Well,' replied Urania, neatly turning my point, as she thought,
and dulling its edge, *I think that man, whatever he may have been
formerly, has now become sufficiently self-directing to keep steadily
to the beaten paths of duty without institutional aid of any kind,
civil or religious. He no longer needs the stupid, useless virtue
of obedience — that clog to all the wheels of progress. Discipline
has grown to be a second nature with him ; he inherits it, and upon
this splendid inheritance he may draw as upon so much moral capi-
tal acquired and transmitted by sires unnumbered. Government in
a democratic country like ours is government by consent. The
people make the laws, the yoke they bear is of their own devising.
It is absurd to imagine that men will rise against what they them-
selves have brought into being and vested with all the authority it
possesses. As well picture a father protesting against the rules
he has framed for the family gathered about his fireside. So I
say: Away with all restraint, and let democracy have its head,
without curbed bit, or blinders on the bridle. Progress is self-
development; this, and nothing more. Self-mastery is not a thing
to give us further worry. This virtue has reached the automatic
*The Cellular Basis of Heredity and Development. By Edwin Grant Conklin.
The Popular Science Monthly, August, 1914, p. 105. Italics mine.
456 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [July,
stage at last, and we may all cry out as did the poet : " Sail on, thou
Ship of State, sail on;" into and over unchartered and untraveled
seas. Thy children are not the recalcitrant youth they were of yore,
but a citizenry trained, if not to arms, to things much better —
whole-hearted obedience to thy least behest, as to thy most exact-
ing wishes.' Urania seemed most pleased with this effusion, and a
glint of triumph lit her eyes as she paused breathless for my reply.
" There you go again, my dear, I said, you and your determin-
istic notions of this kind and that, concerning a being truant and
errant all through his history; talking of him as if he were in
very truth, or could become, as steady as the stars in their coiu^es,
and lent himself, like them, to the rigors of prediction. Do you
not see that your conception of heredity is still faulty? Must I
again inform you that it fs not a static bequest, a fixed piece of
property, or a chattel? Have you forgotten that most of the de-
mocracies which we call modern had their birth in disobedience and
rebellion, following in this the ways and example of the father of
all flesh? Reflect, my dear. It is still a most useful occupation,
preventing hope from running all too high with expectation, cool-
ing that ardor of soul and rush of spirit which with so many passes
for a deeper light than reason's. The machine theory of man is
one that tries my patience. Automatic he may be to a degree, and
moral ; but he can be sophisticated out of this condition. Look at
the industrial class in general, and ask yourself what future faces
democracy, if the peasantry of the world, indoctrinated to a like
extent, should demand the creation of a State, the pivotal principle
of which would be the supremacy, and right to rule, of those only
who work with their hands. And what is to save mankind from
such an unredeeming change of masters but belief in that higher
democracy of the Supernatural which alone is capable of lifting
all of us above the pettiness and social danger attending class-dis-
tinctions of whatever sort? You speak of the uselessness of having
a creed. Here is one that affords you the only bulwark against
greed and selfishness, the only outlet of escape from man's worst
enemy — ^himself.
" Obedience was bom of religion in the first instance, and it
is a much misguided policy, it seems to me, to separate child from
parent, especially as the discipline which religion teaches has its
source, inspiration, and guarantee in a vision of life and its mean-
ing, larger far, and more uplifting, than all your struggles for exist-
ence and deficits of capital. I have heard much of a socialized State,
of peoples here and there so utterly beyond the need of disciplinary
1915.] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 457
restraint, that Church and Government might now be thanked for
their provisional services, and graciously bowed over the border.
The socialist and the finalist are evidently here at odds. But I notice
that when the world goes wrong, you emotional meliorists of what-
ever school all start to blowing the trumpets of vituperation against
religion. You banished creed some years ago, and had a good
laugh at the thought that supematuralism was dead. How do you
like its successor, naturalism — ^the freedom to go every which way
at once, and the devil take the hindmost! You would blame re-
ligion, would you — institutional religion, especially — for the mis-
haps of war and suflFering come upon the world? How much re-
ligion of the sort condemned have you ever sincerely tried or per-
mitted to flower into fruit? Have you not, with H^el and with
Darwin, declared your belief in the final prevalence of Might?
Do have some sense of humor, pray, or I shall die from laughing
at your lack of it. Play not the expert and the adept, I beg you,
of a thing untried ! You have what you wanted, sought, fought for
and brought about, against the protests of Christianity; and now
you would incriminate the latter for your own misdoings; for the
bitter harvest which your antichristian principles have sown. Tis
a mad world, my shepherds.' Men surfeit themselves with im-
christian views of life for a century or more, and then, when disaster
comes, cry out against the very religion which they set at naught
and declared a woman's creed of gentleness.
" The Christian doctrine of man has been displaced by a ma-
chine theory; about as true and fair an estimate of him as if one
were to study the mewing of poor Puss in the roar of the tigress
and forget the years of domestication that have flown between.
Always comparing, never directly inspecting — ^these modem sons of
men! Now, with regard to this machine theory of humanity, I
might admit, and quite complacently, that the actions of human be-
ings are pretty much uniformly the same when it is a question of
sharing profits. Throw a dog a bone, or a child sweetmeats, or a
citizen so much of the earnings of the community as he thinks him-
self entitled to have — and, by the way, you must have noticed that
the more one gets the more one wants in real, as distinct from
theoretical,* life — do any of these positive things which are of profit
to the recipients, and all will be as merry as a marriage bell. We none
of us need much discipline or restraint when the manna falls
steadily into our gourds in contenting measure, though it is written
of them of old that, under like conditions, they still hankered after
the more savory flesh-pots of Egypt.
458 EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [July,
" I am not interested in the use or uselessness of discipline
in cases where all men are conveniently supposed to be profit-shar-
ing, and we are dealing with a State that exists on paper only and
cannot be overturned. It is the ability of men to share losses which
I would like to hear you and the Futurists discuss. Has man, think
you, that ability? Is he so fixed and stable when it is question of
losing, as when it is question of winning, something? Is 'giving'
the passion with him that 'getting' has become? Do you mean to
imply that human individuals — ^say, in a socialistic State — would be
as glad to share the losses of all as they are to divide the gains?
The social fabric would perish overnight if conceived on a universal
loss-sharing basis. Let us suppose a shortage of crops and a shrink-
age in the volume of business, owing to the operation of economic
laws over which as yet we have secured no control. Are your
'democratic' citizens of your new paper republic so thoroughly dis-
ciplined in the ways of obedience, think you, that they would gladly
present themselves, like sheep for the shearing, and willingly forego
their individual earnings, when the general balance sheet happens
to foot up into losses instead of gains? Will workers dispossess
themselves for laggards? Will they smile when fortune frowns?
"Take still another consideration. The State is now en-
croaching upon the individual as never before. Economic so-
cialism, if established, would be as nothing, in its exactions, to the
socialism called eugenic which contemplates a match-making, child-
rearing government, and would, if it could, practically reduce the
individual to the condition of a State-ward and burden. Where has
there been in the past any such drilling of men out of all indi-
viduality, character, and personal initiative as would entitle you to
claim that their obedience to the patronizing eugenists of the present
was part of their inheritance ? Has not over-taxation, over-govern-
ing proved a fruitful occasion of riot and revolution all through his-
tory? You may complacently assume that individualism is mori-
bund, but you will not have proceeded very far in your policy of
crushing it out and stamping it underfoot, before being made to
realize that the giant's 'not dead, but sleeping.' Discipline in-
herited? As well say that a grandfather inherited the traits, ways,
and problems of his future grandchildren ! No, the negative quality
of restraint is necessary to the positive quality of culture, if the
latter is to have the salt that giveth savor and prevents corruption.
The historic partnership between the two can never be dissolved,
and self -development made the feature, sole and single, of man's
advancement. Time was when this policy was tried at Athens, the
1915] EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS 459
citizens of which 'busied themselves in naught else than in saying or
hearing some new thing.' • But that was in the days of decadence,
an invariable sign of which is the seeking of novelty for its own
sake, as if truth were always arriving and reality never come.
" The modem idea of progress, I said to Urania, is destruction
rather than fulfillment; and because of this inveterate misconcep-
tion, the world is restlessly ill at ease, wondering to what work
of demolition it should next set its destroying hand. The present
generation is anxious to get as far away as possible from existing
beliefs and conditions, regardless of the nature or value of the things
it is traveling towards. The question. Whither? is of no con-
cern; all that matters is to move away and on. Man has been
biologized, physicized, de-humanized, and out of all recognition,
in a thousand ways. His vision has been lowered to the things of
earth. The practical, the expedient, the convenient, the self-re-
paying is supreme. Independence, pride, self-sufficiency — none of
them factors in progress, but lets and hindrances — are the sole stars
of guidance. Objective truth has been dismissed, not because there
was anything seriously the matter with its claims, but because men
wished to think as freely as they acted; and so they set to giving
truth a nature more amenable, making it as plastic as clay in the
hands of a potter, or an image in the mind of an artist. The result
— what else could it be but a decree of banishment pronounced
against all the things that give stability and take us out of our-
selves into the world God made and man destroyed, thinking it
progress to have done so.
" Let me ask you : What is progress? Is it the disintegration
of the whole of life and truth into some one or other of the parts
that go to make these up? Should we not conceive it, rather,
as the development in concert of all the distinct parts which unite
to form the rich and varied, many- faceted totality called man?
Not, of course, in the sense that the development of all the compos-
ing parts should or could be equal : I do not mean to propose so im-
practical a dream as that; but in the sense that no possible line
of development — the spiritual, moral, and religious, above all —
should be excluded from man's purview or stricken from the list
of his incentives — which is a feasible proposition capable of being
put into general eflFect. Because you are in favor of man's develop-
ment along all the lines of endeavor so far as he may or can, it
does not follow — does it? — that you are opposed to his developing
specially along some. Hardly.
'Acts xvii. 21.
46o EVOLUTION AND PROGRESS [July,
" I wish the world could be cured of this its greatest fallacy :
the seeking of a part of life as if it were in very truth the whole;
science, for instance, or comfort, or material prosperity, cut off
from the larger vision and more redeeming reach of the Super-
natural. Have you ever noticed the ill will of part towards whole,
how it attempts to crowd the latter out of recognition and set itself
up for all that is really worth while? Do make it a point to ob-
serve this curious phenomenon. I have addled my brain to ac-
count for it until from sheer vexation I had to give the problem up.
Were the consequences not so perilous for men and nations ; did not
thought and action suffer so from this habit of mutilating the in-
tegrity of life, I should liken the whole misguided process to the
fable of the frog inflating his tiny speckled body till it burst, in an
over-ambitious attempt to measure stature with the ox.
" I shall say no more of these two warring 9onceptions of
progress — ^the integral and the partial. You can see for yourself
the narrow exclusive spirit dominating one of them, and the broad
all-inclusive attitude animating the other, which welcomes all the
good in sight and by whomsoever offered, frowning only on the
littleness of the philosophy that too often, alas! accompanies its
doing. Am I an alarmist, do you think, in questioning the future
progress of a world that makes a section of human thought, a mere
subdivision of life, the sole object of attention, worship, and pur-
suit? It is a serious mistake, to my mind, not only in psychology,
but in sociology as well, to allow one idea to become supremely
dominant, especially when but a single aspect of truth and life is
represented by it, and that not the noblest nor the highest, neither
the broadest nor the best. Mono-ideism — behold the world's seed
of dissolution ! And the daily toll of dead, heaping ever higher on
sanguinary fields of combat, is an appalling commentary on the truth
of this utterance. A civilization based on industrialism must per-
force sacrifice the vital interests of humanity to the economic. It
has created its own fate."
And with that the Muse most courteously dismissed me, almost
before I could frame my thanks in fitting language. Not all the
new ideas are true nor all the old ones false, I said to myself, leav-
ing. I bought a paper on the way home — it was full of screaming
headlines about the conflict overseas. The page blurred before my
outer eye. The inner eye burned brightly, searching what the Muse
had said. I was still thinking and could not stop, just as the sea
continues tossed after a storm or a song lingers that has been sung.
LUCIE FAURE GOYAU.
BY VIRGINIA M. CRAWFORD.
NE of the happy gifts with which French Catholic
writers are not infrequently endowed, consists in the
delicate skill with which they illustrate spiritual
truths from the wealth of their secular learning.
Their intellectual culture is more closely interwoven
with their Christian inheritance than can be the case for Catholics
isolated in a Protestant country. Their training has implied no
schism between faith and intellect. We know, for instance, that
Ernest Hello, brilliant essayist and keenest of critics, consecrated his
life to a twofold passion, his love of theology and his love of
literature, and his writings reflect both preoccupations with equal
intensity. Books such as Ozanam's Franciscan Poets and Rio's
Christian Art, the former written long before the fashion had set
in for Franciscan studies, and the latter one of the earliest works
to revive in France an interest in the pre-Raphaelite painters,
owe much of their charm to their fusion of wide artistic knowledge
with Christian tradition. Such writers all bear witness to the fact
that keenness of critical faculty is in no way incompatible with a
high degree of spiritual consciousness.
In our own day similar testimony has been borne by a woman
writer whose early death, some two years ago, brought a real sense
of loss to her many readers. Lucie Faure Goyau, daughter of a
former President of the French Republic, and wife of a distin-
guished man of letters, was a woman of quite exceptional ability and
of wide intellectual sympathies. An unfriendly critic might have
accused her of being a bluestocking: certainly she was, in a very
true sense, a femme savante. An accomplished linguist, she had
steeped her mind in much of the greatest of the world's literature,
French and English, German and Italian, while her understanding
of classical Greek literature and philosophy was quite unusual in a
woman. The deepest studies seem to have had no terrors for her.
She wrote a volume on Newman and another on Dante; she had
made a special study of the English mystics, and was an appreciative
reader of English poetry. She could quote with equal felicity
Pascal or Spinoza, Ruskin or Goethe. She had a discriminating
462 LUCIE FAURE GOYAU [July,
taste in architecture, in early Italian art, in Greek sculpture. She
had traveled considerably, with far-seeing eyes, and she had the
habit of noting her impressions for future use, filling the storehouse
of her mind with treasured memories. Indeed in the course of her
life she must have used up many commonplace books with notes on
her reading, her meditations, on all she saw and did, notes that
afford the best index to her serious thoughtful mind. It is from
them that her husband, with unerring taste, made the posthumous
selection published last year under the title Choses d Ame. This
volume of fragments came as a revelation in some measure even
to her friends, for in it her inmost soul reveals itself with far
greater intimacy than in her previous works.
"Things of the soul," be it noted, is the title, not, as one
might have anticipated, " Things of the Mind." In truth, over and
above her learning and her culture, Madame Goyau was deeply,
even passionately. Catholic. Her faith permeated her whole thought;
it was inextricably mingled with her intellectual interests; it had
colored all her views on art, on literature, on life. The posthumous
volume betrays the fact that she gave much time to prayer and
meditation, while her acquaintance with devotional and ascetical
literature was extensive. Without some measure of deliberate with-
drawal from external activities her reading, her writing, and above
all her spiritual life, would all have suffered impoverishment.
Among those who knew her but slightly, Madame Goyau had the
reputation of being reserved and unapproachable, and this was
sometimes attributed to the fact of her having lived at the Elysee
during the years when her father, Felix Faure, was President of the
Republic. In reality her unapproachability was rather the outcome
of a natural disinclination to waste time in the futilities of ordinary
social intercourse. And who would seriously blame her? The
literary legacy she has left us is her fullest justification. Perhaps
what strikes the reader most in her books is not her imagination, not
her creative power, but her constant and penetrating preoccupation
with the high things of the spirit.
Thus a theme that was constantly in her mind and that was
intensely characteristic both of her spiritual and her intellectual
outlook, was the sadness of paganism contrasted with the joy of
Christianity. She has devoted one of the most attractive of her
books, Ames Paiennes, Ames Chretiennes, to developing the thesis
in detail, and the thought recurs in many of the fragments of
Choses d'Ame, True resignation, she declares, speaking in praise
1915.I LUCIE FAURE GOYAU 463
of the passive Christian virtues, is illuminated by a ray of joy from
the life beyond. Paganism was only cognizant of a mournful
resignation. Turning to Greek art and literature, with which she
was thoroughly familiar, Madame Goyau traces this pagan sadness
onwards from Homer through the great dramatists — iEschylus,
Sophocles, Euripides. She sees it in the decoration of the Greek
cinerary urns, in their endless scenes of death and grief, drawn
with an exquisite purity of line and rh)rthm, in their tender epitaphs.
And she asks why they are so heart-breaking? "It is because
they all lack the seal of the Christian tombs, of which the serenity
spreads from death over life : the Requiescat in pace/'
Poor Greece [she writes], how little we understand her when
we believe she was satisfied with her azure seas, her marbles
and her roses. Even the serenity of Apollo did not suffice her,
and she was driven to seek counsel of the mysterious Dionysus,
but she could not appease the unrest of her own soul. The
soul of Hellas resembles the blue sea that laps her shores, and
that is smiling and caressing on the surface, but beneath, as the
ancients tell us, is full of mourning and burials.
Neither does she believe in the reality of the much-vaunted
return to paganism of our own day. Is not the aestheticism, she
asks, even of those who consider themselves most pagan, deeply
impregnated with Christianity? Could a true Greek have written
Keats' Ode to a Grecian Urn? Greatly daring, she questions
whether, without the light given by Christianity, art — even pagan
art — can be fully understood. Mere revolt against Christian teach-
ing, against the despised passive virtties, can never bring one back to
paganism. And at this point, in a few penetrating pages, she draws
a suggestive parallel between two celebrated women, almost her
contemporaries, and each the writer of a famous Journal, Eugenie
de Guerin and Marie BashkirtseflF : the one, " the exquisite type of
the provinciale who dreams, and reflects, and prays;" the other,
" ardent, generous, tormented, suflFering, bitter, filled with despair."
It is characteristic of Madame Goyau that she finds her own
sex the more interesting of the two, and it is among women that
she seeks for confirmation and illustration of her various theories.
The only book of hers in which the masculine interest is wholly
predominant is her Life of Newman, which, written some fifteen
years ago, admittedly did much to popularize the writings of the
great Oratorian in France. For the rest her various volumes
464 LUCIE FAURE GOYAU [July,
present us with a gallery of delicately limned feminine personalities
for whom she cherished enthusiasms : Catherine of Siena, the type
of burning love; Eugenie de Guerin, Angela of Folig^o, Juliana
of Norwich, Antigone, Hypatia. The women mentioned in The
Divine Comedy — Beatrice, Francesca, Cunizza, Matilda, and many
more — ^have a volume to themselves, Les Femmes dans VCEuvre de
Dante, delicate discriminating studies displaying a high level of
Dante scholarship. Of Christina Rossetti, morbidly scrupulous,
craving unconsciously for the fullness of Catholic truth which
should have been hers by right of her Italian birth, but from which
she was deprived by the accident of her father's exile from Naples,
Madame Goyau writes with penetrating comprehension, bestowing
on her poetic genius a fuller meed of praise than most English
critics would accord.
Our authoress is no less happy with her subject in the long
article that appeared in the Revue des Deux Mondes (August,
1913), dealing with Juliana of Norwich and other English mediaeval
mystics, and her study doubtless introduced to French readers a
devotional literature wholly unfamiliar to- them. It was to be her
last literary achievement. Never was her critical faculty more
happily shown, her wide knowledge turned to nobler use. Under
the title Mystical Visions of Mediceval England, Madame Goyau
gives in some thirty pages a study of mysticism as revealed in the
Ancren Riwle, in Walter Hilton's Ladder of Perfection, and in
Juliana's Revelations of Divine Love. Her personal predilections,
however, cause her to linger over the sublime utterances of Juliana.
What attracts her specially is that though Juliana had looked sorrow
in the face, though the sufferings of the whole world found an echo
in her heart, though her revelations all came to her through her
crucifix, she too believed intensely in the reality of perpetual joy,
and her teaching can be summed up in her favorite phrase: "All
is for love." This hidden anchoress, shut in behind her barred
window, " had seen further than human eyes habitually see, and
she was filled with confidence, a supreme, all-embracing confidence,
which, from the spiritual heights on which she dwelt, flows down
as we read her book on the peaks of our own soul." Madame
Goyau shows how all through the Christianity of the Middle Ages
there ran a deep current of interior life, which betrayed itself in the
raising up of cathedrals, was reflected in the pure blue of their
stained-glass windows, and revealed itself in the writings of a
Juliana and a Gertrude, a Catherine of Siena and an Angela of
1915] LUCIE FAURE GOYAU 465
Folig^o. It was a period " when simple women uttered words so
profound that the Greek philosophers would have been amazed at
them." Humanly speaking, she says, it would be easier to think
of these sohtary recluses as stupefied by solitude and cut off from
all living humanity, than to see in them souls strangely wide awake,
refined and tempered by the supernatural order of their preoccupa-
tions, and mysteriously united to all humanity in its highest and
vastest manifestations. Yet in truth such were Juliana and others
of her time.
After drawing comparisons between the experiences of Juliana
and other great mystics, Madame Goyau writes of mysticism in
general with an intensity of conviction that makes the passage worth
reproducing.
The unlearned would be filled with astonishment could they
realize that mysticism can boast a sublime precision. For them
the word mystical is synonymous with something vague,
nebulous and indeterminate. They would be very surprised to
learn that the geography of the mystical world reveals itself
with outlines as clear and well-defined as those of islands or
continents. Their amazement would be still greater could they
behold the mystical world governed by laws of an exquisite
delicacy, yet at the same time so solid though so subtle, so
rigorous though capable of innumerable shades! Among
mystics may be found the most surprising analogies and the
most incontestable differences Whatever the country,
whatever the climate, the environment, the heredity, the educa-
tion, mysticism remains one and the same, but mystics present
individual personalities of striking originality. The world
cannot refuse to recognize the originality of a St. Teresa or a
St. Francis of Assisi. The most transcendent words on htmian
destiny, the most profound concerning the soul and life, have
they not been uttered by mystics who, despising philosophy
and literature, have soared above the heights of philosophy and
literature?
Nowhere, however, do we obtain so vivid an impression at
once of the breadth of Madame Goyau's intellectual sympathies,
and the intensity of her hidden religious life, as in the detached
fragments — her notes, her meditations, her prayers — ^happily rescued
from oWivion by M. Georges Goyau after her death. The book
can best be described in the happy French expression as a " livre de
chcvet ;" a book to keep by one and dip into and meditate at leisure.
VOL. a. — ^30
466 LUCIE FAURE GOYAU [July,
Many of the notes have been jotted down on her travels. The
fountains and aqueducts of Italy, the churches of Ravenna, the
exquisite beauty of Umbria where St. Qare is to her as vivid a
figure as the poverello himself, the startling contrast between
Hadrian's villa and a cell at San Damiano, these and similar themes
inspire her to delicate reflective pages. Her whole thought, intel-
lectually as well as spiritually, is penetrated with hfer faith, at once
instinctive and reasoned. Take the little fragments on Absolution,
and on all that confession means to man endowed with free-will,
with the felicitous illustration from Macbeth, or the still more
touching notes on The Holy Eucharist illustrated from her much-
loved St. Catherine. A favorite thought with her is that Christian
faith should triumph over the gloom and sorrow of death. She
quotes with approval the epitaph of Amauld d'Andilly, "Sub sole
vanitas, super solem Veritas,'' and continues :
Our dead, more truly living than ourselves, look down from
on high on all pettiness and meanness : they possess the Abso-
lute, Eternity, God. Let us. endeavor to please them by
imitating them ; let us be absorbed as they are in the things of
eternity ; let us begin to live on earth our life of eternity and
we shall never cease to be united to them.
One hesitates to translate so much of the charm lying in the
refined French phrasing. The following fragments have been
selected partly because their more concrete thought renders the task
of the translator less disheartening.
Only too often to love means to confer on some htunan
being the power to inflict intense suffering on oneself. To
love, for two hiunan beings, is often for both the selfish joy
of loving themselves in another. To be loved, to love to be
loved, is often to love to see oneself exquisitely reflected in the
heart of another.
To love is to suffer when one loves without God, for the
excess of our love falls back painfully on our own hearts. But
what joy to love in God, into Whose infinite heart we can pour
the overflow of our love, which falls back in priceless g^ces
on those whom we love. And what joy to reflect that God
loves them also infinitely more and infinitely better than we do.
We never reflect on the intensity of affection in hearts
purified to such a point (as in the saints). A vulgar prejudice
places love of God in opposition to human affection, whereas
1915] LUCIE FAURE GOYAU 4/S7
in reality love of God is mainly opposed to selfishness disguised
beneath the mask of human passion. Freed from selfishness
and ascending towards God, the flame of human affection bums
all the more brightly, being the more pure.
When will the world come to understand that a single hour
of intense interior life enclosed within the walls of some narrow
cell, is more fraught with consequence for humanity than the
gaining of some victory on one of the vast battlefields of our
globe.
From the following brief extracts we gain some insight into
Madame Goyau's own spiritual life. The reference in the first
fragment is clearly to the Book of Visions and Instructions by
Angela of FoHgno, of which Ernest Hello, a favorite author with
Madame Goyau, made a singularly beautiful translation in French.
The chapters on Humility and on the Blessed Sacrament in
Angela of Foligno possess indeed a supernatural beauty. I
read them and re-read them without growing accustomed to
them; they continue to fill me with astonishment. One's
thoughts love to rest in these great solitudes of eternal truth
where one can find God.
To silence thought in its impatience, to seize something of
God, to crush it beneath the sense of divine greatness, to pray
with all that is conscient and inconscient within us, with all our
faculties, with all our being in one entire offering.
How truly one feels that the Our Father is a divine prayer!
By repeating it slowly, by meditating it profoundly, one em-
braces heaven and earth, one girdles space and immensity, one
envelops the universe. Just a few words, and infinity is ex-
pressed and the totality of things is uttered. All the souls that
make up the siun of humanity must receive a g^ce each time
an Our Father is properly recited.
It will be in the memory of all how the Catholic renaissance
in France of recent years has been to a strange extent a literary
movement, deriving much Sclat from the adhesion of men such as
Paul Bourget, Brunetiere, Coppee, Rene Bazin. Until the outbreak
of the war it was not always easy to say how far it was also a
spiritual rebirth. Madame Goyau represented the essential Catholic
kernel of the nation, which though often concealed has never been
wholly robbed of its vitality, rather than any sudden awakening to
spiritual influences, and had her life been spared, her work would
468 LUCIE FAURE GOYAU [July,
have been one of quiet strengthening and building-up. To-day,
after eight months of the terrible national experience of war and
invasion, the religious revival is so startling in its proportions that
it can no longer be ignored even by those who would fain obey it.
It has passed far beyond the need of the fostering care of any
individual, however distinguished. And, indeed, this wonderful
upgrowth of faith has coincided with a sad depleting of the ranks
of Catholic workers and thinkers. Besides veterans impossible to
replace, such as Count Albert de Mun and Henri Lorin, President
of the Semaines Sociales, who both died last autumn, France has
seen among the slain upon her battlefields Charles Peguy, poet and
Christian mystic, the acknowledged leader of a literary and artistic
group in Paris, and Ernest Psichari, that brilliant grandson of
Renan, who made a name for himself by his military novel, UAppel
des Amies, and by the open avowal of his conversion to Catholicism.
There died also last autumn Madame Brunhes, foimdress of the
Consumer's League, and a woman of rare culture and ability.
These are all grave losses to the Catholic strength of the nation
which, humanly speaking, should mean spiritual impoverishment.
Yet we know and believe that the torch of Faith, once re-lighted,
will not easily be extinguished, and that the new France, purified
by sacrifice and suflFering, will diflfer widely from the old.
THE SILVER CORD.
BY GRACE KEON.
I VERYTHING about the room denoted, if not wealth,
at least a comfortable living. It was a room fash-
ioned and furnished by refined people — ^people of
educated tastes. There was not an inharmonious
note in the rich coverings, the splendid hangings, the
heavy, polished furniture, and the girl sitting at the piano, a slim
little thing of twenty in a plain blue gown, fitted into the picture,
as did the tall young fellow with the earnest dark face bending over
her. They did not look like brother and sister — the girl so slight
and fair and small, the youth so big and broad and dark. At the
table was the mother, sewing — sl soft-eyed woman, plainly but
richly dressed — ^and on the other side of the lamp the father, who
had been reading, but who now sat shielding his eyes with his hand,
one finger of the other hand keeping the place in his book while he
listened to the music.
ThjB two young people turned from the piano as the last note
sounded ; the girl to run over and perch on the arm of her father's
chair, the young man to draw another chair to the table, between
his father and mother, so that they were within reach of his hands
when he stretched them out.
" Well, now for it ! " he cried, gaily.
The mother put down her sewing.
" You don't look as if you were in disgrace, Francis," laughed
the girl. "And yet I fear the worst."
" You may expect it," retorted her brother.
" Seriously, my boy," said the mother, " how did you get away
from college at thistime? I thought you were particularly busy ? "
" We have been, but exams are just over, and after taking
up the matter with Dr. Stimson, we decided that I should come on
and have a little talk with you. One can't always explain things
in a letter." He ran his fingers through his hair carelessly. " Dad,"
he said, addressing his father, " I'm thinking of leaving college."
The father turned a grave face toward him — z thin, dark,
grave face. The eyes looked tired; tired — ^and something else,
hard to define.
" Leaving college ? " he questioned, slowly. " When ? "
" Now."
470 THE SILVER CORD [July,
" But, my dear boy," began, his mother, anxiously. The girl
sat up quickly, all the laughter dying out of her face. As if by a
lightning flash those few words had changed the atmosphere.
" You must have a very good reason," said the father, speaking
as the mother paused, not knowing how to go on.
" Well, father, I think I have a very good reason," said the
young man, "and I'm hoping you'll approve of it. Its been in
the back of my mind a good while — last summer, particularly,
seemed to settle the matter. Parrish's death — it was so sudden,
so awful, it made a great impression on me." He hesitated.
They were looking at him intently. " I never told you, but it
was just by chance I didn't get into the boat, too. I was running
for it, and my shoe lace tripped me. I fell, and waved for them
to go on. I was shaken up a little. Then it happened in a flash."
The young man's voice died away. " Good Lord ! Poor Par-
rish ! I don't think I'll ever get over it as long as I live."
" I didn't dream it had made such an impression on you,
Francis," said his mother, in her low voice.
"No," he answered, "I never spoke of it to anyone; I
couldn't. And I wouldn't tell you now, except to point out what I
am going to say. I felt that last summer decided me — ^my whole
life changed." He stopped abruptly. " Father and mother, I want
your consent to enter the theological seminary. I want to study
for the ministry."
There was absolute silence. The mother stared at him with
distended eyes and parted lips — a gaze into which there seemed to
enter, suddenly, a flood of light, an expression of irjtensest joy.
The girl leaned forward, wonder and pleasure on her face. The
father's countenance was a study — a conflicting study. He, too,
looked at his son. His eyes lost their tiredness — ^the " something
else " remained — they made the young man vaguely uncomfortable.
He stared at his father curiously. What was he thinking about?
What brought that expression? What emotion? What was it?
Anger ? No. Aversion ? No. Fear — ^that was it. Fear, terror !
He sat fascinated, too engrossed to do more than merely
wonder.
" Francis 1 " said his sister, in a thrilling tone. " Oh, it is
beautiful, beautiful 1"
" My boy ! " The mother's voice was like a strain of music.
" You have given me the greatest happiness of my life."
The tears were welling down her cheeks. The young man ex-
tended his hand and patted her arm, gently, sympathetically. But it
1915.1 THE SILVER CORD 471
was to his father he turned — the father who had been his comrade
and his friend.
" I have your consent, also, dear dad? " he asked, affectionately.
The older man put his book on the table and folded his hands
over it.
" No," he said.
"No?"
" Just that— ^o."
"But, father, there is a reason?"
" Yes, a good reason."
The yoimg man sat back in his chair, and his features grew
stem. The girl rose from beside her father. Unconsciously her
hands were clasped on her breast as if fearing the next words. But
the mother straightened. All the sweetness and softness left her
face — ^all the joy her eyes. She was as white as if carved in marble,
and as cold.
" I forbid you to give the reason," she said to her husband,
" or you to listen," she added, turning to her son.
The young man leaned forward.
" What folly 1 " he said, laughing harshly. " For a reason
which I am not to hear I am to be kept away from a life to which,
I am firtnly convinced, I have been almost supematurally called 1
Oh, no! mother," he looked at her with hard yoimg eyes, and rose
to his feet, " you have no right to interfere, and I will hear the
reason."
" You shall have it," said the father, in his low, quiet voice.
" I am a Roman Catholic"
The silence was terrible. The mother's eyelids half-closed, as
if a knife had gone through her heart.
" A Roman Catholic ! " cried the yoimg man.
" Yes. Your mother and I married because we were passion-
ately in love with each other. She made all the promises neces-
sary. When you were bom you were baptized in the Catholic
Faith. When Mildred came she, too, received the waters of Bap-
tism. What happened afterward — " he smiled, coldly — " my own
fault, my own carelessness. I am a renegade, a fall-away, a disgrace
to my religion."
He paused, pushing the hair back from his temples with the
movement so characteristic in the son. Under the stress of emotion
both faces were very white, very alike.
" With the marks of the Catholic baptism on your forehead,
and the knowledge that your forbears on your father's side were
47^ THE SILVER CORD [July,
staunch Roman Catholics, I can hardly conceive of allowing you to
preach against my Faith/'
The mother rose, trembling in every limb. In all their lives
her children had never seen her look as she did now.
"Your Faith!" she sneered. ''Your Faith! What has it
ever done for you ? "
" What have I ever done for it?'* he asked, with a ghastly smile.
" ril take any punishment. I deserve much. But not — not
to see my son a Presbyterian minister. Not that, not that ! "
The mother leaned across the table, her face white with passion.
" I despise you ! " she said.
The two young people could only stare at the actors in this
dreadful drama, their hearts torn within them. Father and mother
stared steadily at each other a second ; then the woman turned, her
head erect and proud, and left the room with unfaltering step.
The father did not stir. The young man was the first to
recover himself.
" Go to mother, Mildred," he said, quietly.
The girl came closer to him and laid a loving cheek on his
sleeve.
" Poor Francis ! " she whispered. Then she turned to her
father. He had sank back in his chair — his face very wliite, his
eyes closed. She hesitated.
" Go, Mildred," said her brother.
She went. The young man waited, his gaze fastened on his
father. Then he leaned forward and touched his hand. The dark
eyes flared open.
" Poor Francis, indeed ! " he echoed. " Must you share the
punishment?"
"If it is your sin — ^yes, father," said the youth, steadily.
" It is so written."
" I have robbed you of a priceless heritage."
Francis hesitated.
" Father, I do not know what to do."
" No," wearily.
" You do not ask me to become a Roman Catholic? "
" I know better than to ask you that."
" YouVe upset all my ideas — ^you've dug down at the very roots
of life. A Roman Catholic — my father ! "
There was wonder, pity. Yes, even a little contempt in his
voice.
" ril have to think about it." His hand touched his father's
1915] THE SILVER CORD 473
cold fingers. " Supposing I fed that in spite of all this I am still
called to the preacher's life? "
The father's grasp tightened almost convulsively on the young
man's hand. No words could have been so expressive. No looks
could convey to the loving heart of the son what frightful suffering
his father was enduring. And the generous boy responded.
" Father," he said, gently, " I'll go back to college for a year.
And I'll study the Roman Catholic doctrine as fairly as I can,
without prejudice. It is essential that I should. But you must
abide by my decision at the end of a year."
The father bowed his head.
" Do not forget this is all my fault," he said. " My fault for
marrying out of the Faith, my fault for not insisting on the religious
education of my children. All my fault ! All my fault ! "
He said no more — nor did the boy.
Father Breen rose from his thanksgiving, and went to the
door of the vestry. The church had few occupants. Mrs. Tully
was making the Stations, as was her habit after the half-past six
o'clock Mass, and old Mr. Floyd was on his knees before the statue
of the Sacred Heart, which was also his haWt. Father Breen
knew that no matter who else left the church, these two would
remain in it — Mrs. Tully to tread the Sorrowful Way for " those in
their agony or those about to die," and Mr. Floyd beseeching the
Compassionate Heart to grant him the favor he had been seeking
for over twenty years.
Father Breen was not looking for either of these. His eyes
strayed past them.
Yes, she was there — ^at Our Lady's shrine.
Her hands were clasped loosely on the altar rail, her small,
delicate face was upturned, her lips were moving slowly, as if the
thoughts of her heart found but partial utterance — as if she could
not find words, only broken speech.
Father Breen turned quietly from the door, and went back,
a little frown between his eyes. He had a curious, baffled sensa-
tion, and no one who knew Father Breen and his intense interest
in his flock — individually as well as collectively — would be surprised
at this.
The young girl who knelt at Our Lady's shrine was totally
unknown to him. Yet she had been coming to Mass regularly for
over a year, always the half -past six o'clock Mass. She occupied
the same scat every morning before the Blessed Mother, and after
474 THE SILVER CORD [July,
Mass she knelt for at least fifteen minutes at the rail, face upturned,
seemingly rapt in prayer, seemingly devout Sundays and week
days the occurrence was the same.
But — and this was the part that troubled Father Breen — in
all that time she had never approached the communion rail 1 This
fact had begun to disturb Father Breen's peace af mind. Who was
she? Where had she come from? Why did she look so unhappy?
And how could so seemingly pious a child come so steadily to Mass
for an entire year and never approach Our Lord in the Eucharist?
All sorts of conjectures went through the good priest's head.
What if this were some tormented soul, whose scruples deterred
it from partaking of the Celestial Banquet ? Or a poor little sinner,
afraid to approach it? Or a timid convert, unable to proceed and
not knowing how to seek a g^ide ?
Father Breen turned sharply, as his altar boy passed along
the hall.
"Joe!" he said.
"Yes, Father?"
"Go outside and ask that young lady kneeling before the
Blessed Virgin's altar to come in here to me a minute."
"Yes, Father."
It was nothing unusual, this siunmoning of one of his flock.
The boy obeyed, and came back almost instantly.
"Well, Joe?"
Joe was plainly puzzled.
" She was going. Father. She said please excuse her just now
as she was late."
"Oh!" Father Breen felt some discomfiture, but he per-
severed.
" Who is she, Joe? Do you know her? "
" Never saw her out of church. Father." The boy hesitated.
He was intelligent, and he surmised, rightly, that his pastor was
interested. " She seemed awfully scared. Father. Her face got
all red and then white, and she grabbed hold of the rail. I thought
sure she was going to faint."
" Poor child ! " said Father Breen, gently. " But I don't think
she should fear me. I'm sure no one is the least bit afraid of me ;
not even my rascal of an altar boy."
" No, Father," agreed Joe, cheerfully, and grinning with all
his might. Afraid of Father Breen! That was a joke!
Joe didn't allude to the matter again, nor did Father Breen,
but he could not help thinking of the " poor, unhappy child." And
1915.I THE SILVER CORD 475
when, the next morning after Mass, he missed the slender, dark-
robed figure, something lik^e consternation filled him. Had he
driven her away? Did she really fear him?
For an entire week he saw nothing of her. Then Joe solved
the problem.
" That girl never comes up to the front any more ; she always
stays in the back of the church," he volunteered. " Right in the
last seat."
" Oh ! " said Father Breen, and his heart was ten potmds lighter.
At least he had not forced her away altogether!
A fortnight sped by. On Annunciation Day, Our Lady's altar
was lovingly and beautifully adorned. Evidently its attraction was
too great to be resisted. The slender girl took a place in the first
pew, and after Mass stole timidly up to the altar rail.
" Good glory, Blessed Mother ! " expostulated Father Breen.
He had finished his thanksgiving and was alone in the vestry.
" Tm a bit surprised at you ! Here's a child evidently plunged in
unhappiness, with her love for you shining out of her face, and you
won't help me to do a thing for her. What's the trouble at all,
at all?"
He was really anxious. Such devotion — ^and no communion!
What did it mean? He w«^/ do something! What? And while
he stood pondering, his breviary between his fingers from force of
habit, he heard hesitating steps, and looking up saw her. Her eyes
were fastened on his face pleadingly, but even her lips were white.
For the moment Father Breen was so astonished at the sudden
apparition that he could not move hand or foot. Nothing more
unexpected could have occurred. Then, being a gentleman, he
made a mental and abject apology to our Blessed Lady at once.
" Perhaps — ^perhaps you can spare me a minute, sir ? " the girl
asked. Her voice was low, refined, and very sweet.
"A minute?" asked Father Breen, gently. "Indeed I can."
To himself he added. " 'Sir!' That means a convert." He didn't
care what it meant if only he had the opportunity of helping her.
" Won't you sit down," he went on. She was trembling visibly.
"You are very nervous, poor child. Never mind. Tell me all
about it, and the nervousness will fly away with the trouble." He
smiled cordially.
She shook her head.
" I wish it would," she said, sinking into a chair. " It's —
about — about my father. You are sure you have time?"
" Loads of it! Bushels of it! Time is of no consequence! "
476 THE SILVER CORD- [July,
" Well ! " she drew a long breath. " My father is very sick."
"Yes ? " encouraged Father Breen.
" There are four of us — father, mother, my brother Francis
and myself. WeVe — we've always been Presbyterians. Not my
father. But the rest of us. A year ago my brother came home
from college. He wanted to be a minister.". The girl spoke
rapidly, as if only quickness of speech gave her strength. " It
made my mother and me very happy. And then — " she was inter-
lacing one finger over the other feverishly. " It was dreadful.
My father refused his consent because he was a Roman Catholic;
because we both — Francis and I — had been baptized Roman Catho-
lics and — "
The g^rl was sobbing. She put her handkerchief to her eyes
and wiped away the tears hurriedly.
" Oh, how horrible it was, and we had been so happy ! My
darling mother, my dear father, and I."
Yes, thought Father Breen, sadly. The same story ; no matter
what its variation, it was the same story. He sat silent, stunned
by the tragedy her words had laid before him.
" Francis went back to college. Our house is My
mother has never spoken a word to my father since that day. The
next morning I came to church here. I don't know why. My
father had told me I was baptized. I found out about baptism;
what it meant and all, and I could not keep away. My mother,"
she averted her eyes quickly, " she knows I come. I — I do not
matter so much. Her heart is with Francis ! Francis ! Francis !"
"And your brother?" asked Father Breen.
" He reaches home this afternoon. He was to take a year.
To-day we shall know. My mother has left no stone unturned,
no authority unread, no argument. She has written letters upon
letters — sometimes every day. My father does not speak. It is a
battle of wills, from which I have been left out. Only father and
mother and Francis! And — and I don't know whom I want to
win!"
Father Breen looked at her thoughtfully.
"From which you have been left out?" he echoed. "Tell
me — that is if you can — what you have been saying to God's
blessed Mother for the last year? "
A soft flush crept across the delicate cheeks.
" I could not say much to her. I don't know how," she mur-
mured. " But it was 'Sweet Lady, keep my soul. Keep Francis.
Show him the right road.' That is all."
I9IS] THE SILVER CORD 477
" But it is enough," said Father Breen. " Yqu have been
asking her that for a year, and do you think the Mother of God
could refuse a prayer made before her in such a fashion? "
" Oh ! " said the girl, her eyes widening. " You think she
heard me?"
"You're her child."
" I don't belong— "
" But you do." He smiled at her. " YouVe been baptized ;
your ours ; we clahn you. It's not your fault you don't understand,
but the love is there, and that will help. Don't you worry about
Francis. Our Blessed Lady has him safe and sound."
" Oh ! " repeated the girl. " You mean—"
"Your Francis will never be a minister. That's all I can
say now, but I'm sure of it. How far he has gone I don't know,
but if he's done any conscientious study at all I'm not afraid of
the outcome."
" If I could believe that," said the girl.
" As for your father—"
" He is failing so, and I cannot speak neither of religion nor
anything else. Everything depends on Francis."
" Not everything," said Father Breen. " I'm your father's
priest, and something depends on me."
" But you've never seen him."
" No," said Father Breen, " but I would die to save his soul.
And so would any priest. And I think," he paused, " I think from
what you tell me he has been going through his purgatory."
" Purgatory ! " The girl echoed the word. " Yes, it is that —
purgatory ! "
" I am going to call on your father to-morrow morning," said
Father Breen. " You leave me your address."
"But, my mother?"
" Child, I've told you I'm a priest. Do not worry."
The stress of the past twelve months had told upon that young
face. The smooth brow was lined with wrinkles; the dark eyes
were darker and larger, the cheeks thinner, the mouth more firmly
set. They gathered once more about the heavy, polished table.
The father with features as sharp and clear-cut as those of a
cameo, set in a skin of ivory whiteness; the mother, still and cold,
a little haughty, a little bitter ; the delicate girl, pale and downcast.
All hearts, all eyes, focused on the young man who sat there as he
478 THE SILVER CORD [July,
had been seated that day, of which this was the anniversary. Again
he spoke to them of that which had changed the current of their lives.
But not then — or ever — did he tell the story of that year —
neither of its heights, nor its depths, nor its tortures, nor its joys.
He announced his decision, cahnly and without hesitation.
" I shall not enter the seminary," he said.
The tone was quiet, passionless. The mother's lips curled,
she darted a glance of contempt at her husband.
" You have conquered," she said.
Her son looked at her.
" You must not talk like that," he said. " I have not said
I am a Roman Catholic."
She shrank as from a blow.
" Not said ? " The words seemed forced from her pale lips.
" Not said what? You mean — "
"I mean I shall not enter the ministry — just that." He was
very pale now, and the dark circles beneath his eyes seemed to
darken still more. " Mother ! " he said, passionately. " I am like
a man in a delirium, a man who longs to attain his ideal, who sees
it outlined against a clear sky, and yet — ^and yet — there is the
obstacle, the insurmountable obstacle."
Her face would not be whiter in its coffin.
" And that obstacle? " she asked.
"You!"
" I ! " she repeated, wonderingly. " I ? " she hesitated.
" Francis, what has happened ? "
" What has happened ? " The hint of a smile touched his lips.
" I am your son, too, dear mother. I took your bigotry, your
prejudices, your contempt, your hatred even, with me. Heart, soul,
brain, were filled with them. What has happened?" His voice
sank low. "The inevitable."
" You wish to be a Catholic? "
" With your permission."
" With my permission ! You shall never, never have it."
" You can refuse me much, but the Faith this year has brought
me is in no man's power to take away. It has come from God."
The sadness of his voice touched her to the soul. He was
her darling, her firstborn, her pride, her joy. Mildred was a good
child, a dear child, but Francis. What if he really believed this
came from God! Oh, he must believe or he would not say so!
A shudder went through her.
1915I THE SILVER CORD 479
" Oh, Francis, it will break my heart ! " The words issued
from her lips like the cry of a despairing spirit.
" Mother! " he rose then, and went to her chair, putting his
hand on her shoulder. " Mother, don't you think I — tried? ''
" Yes," she said, nodding. " Yes." She drew a long breath.
" You are sure of yourself ? "
" Absolutely."
"And afterwards?"
" The call is there, mother, if God will take me. The highest
life of all."
She looked straight before her.
"A priest!" she said. "My son a Roman Catholic priest!
With my consent? Oh, how can it be possible? "
" Some -day," he whispered, his lips on her cheek, " you will
add 'how can it be possible that he is worthy of such an honor?' "
She closed her eyes. He was so dear to her — so very dear —
and never dearer than now, when she felt she was giving him up
forever.
" Francis, if it is for your happiness — "
" Beloved ! " His lips were on her cold ones, his strong young
arms about her heaving shoulders. She rested against him in her
weakness, glad of his strength. Then, very gently, he took her hand
in his and stretched it across the table to meet his father's extended
clasp. Softly they rose, the brother and sister, and left the two
together — ^that out of suffering both might find peace.
When the half-past six o'clock Mass was over, Father Breen
stepped once more to the door of the sacristy. Mrs. Tully was
saying the Stations " for those in their agony, or those about to
die." Mr. Floyd was on his knees before the statue of the Sacred
Heart, offering the prayer that he had offered now for over twenty
years. But at the altar rail, gazing into the sweet, sculptured face
of Our Lady knelt the slender girl — and beside her a young man —
the youth of whose dark face belied the lines upon his forehead and
about his mouth. Father Breen went back quickly, his heart beating
so hard with joy that it hurt him.
" Oh, holy Mother Church, dear Mother of all, but 'tis you can
weave the silver cord of prayer that binds us together — ^big and
little, old and poor, great and small ! " he whispered, and there were
tears in his eyes.
t^
a
ASSISL
BY CHARLES H. A. WAGER.
I HE little train pulls quietly into the station, and before
you, on the mountain side, shimmering and swim-
ming in the hot, white light, is Assisi. It lies
spread out, as on a wall, from the bastions of San
Francesco at the left to the slender tower of Santa
Chiara at the right, her half-dozen domes and towers rising above
her gray roofs, and the shattered circlet of the fortress crowning
all. You make your way along the straight white road, through the
fine dust that powders everything, between flat green fidds flecked
with blood drops, which are poppies, past the villa, where a bronze
tablet records the tradition that from this spot St. Francis Uessed
his beloved city on his last journey to the Porziuncola. You reach
the beginning of the steep ascent, you climb the narrow lane
between high hedges, you pass the great wooden cross outside the
Porta San Pietro, which the peasants pause to kiss, and you enter
the city at last under the portal named of San Francesco. Through
the labyrinth of narrow streets twisting and climbing up the moun-
tain side, you make your breathless way to the little room high up
under the fortress, cool, bare, brick-paved, spotless, from which
you see the kingdoms of another world than this material one, and
the glory of them. Before you a wide, green plain sweeps away
west and east and south to the mountains that compass it. Near
and far the heights are crowned with little cities, whose names, like
those of the handmaidens of the Blessed Damozel, are " five, sweet
symphonies." They are Spello and Trevi, Spoleto, Montefalco,
and Bettona, and upon everyone lies the glory of Franciscan legend
and Franciscan art. To the south is low-lying Foligno, hidden by
the hills, and to the northeast lordly Perugia upon her height guards
the entrance of this sombre and pensive Umbria against the gay
vivacities of Tuscany. The little river Tescio, wateriess except
after heavy rains, writhes like a dusty, gray serpent across the
plain, and on the other side of the valley the vivid green of willows
marks the course of the august Tiber on his way to Rome. Almost
at your feet lie two of the most sacred shrines of " the religion,"
Rivo Torto, the first home of the little company, and the Chapel
19151 ASSISI ^481
of the Porziuncola, the cradle of the Order. At every hour, in
Qvery season, the great bell-like dome of " the Angeli," beneath
which lies the Porziuncola, dominates the plain. Shimmering in a
haze of heat, or wavering ghost-like in the midst of a moonlit
August night, it is a perpetual reminder of all the sacred places that
it covers: the chapel where the young seeker after God found
what he sought, the tiny cell in the wood where he knew the ecstasies
and the despairs of the hidden life of the soul, the bare chamber
in which, naked upon the naked earth, he uttered his last thanks-
giving " for our sister, the death of the body," and, in the high
speech of saintly chronicles, " migrated to life."
It is idle to try to see these places in the light of common
day. Whether you will or not, they are clothed upon with a spirit-
ual, a symbolic beauty which is veritably theirs. For one who loves
them, that is, for one who knows their story, it is impossible to
say whether this Umbrian valley and the holy places that it holds
are objectively beautiful or no. Their beauty at best is a beauty of
beginnings, a pale harmony of dawn. But when one compares
the hinted loveliness of this landscape with regions of a more
opulent, more majestic beauty, as when one sees the timid grace and
sweetness of Umbrian art beside the splendors of Milan, of Florence,
of Venice, one perceives how little the immortal charm of this
beloved land is borrowed from the eye, how much it is borrowed
from the heart.
You turn your eyes to the east, and there above you rises Mt.
Subasio, in whose recesses the young herald of the great King, in
the first days of his embassy, went singing the praises of God.
There lies the hermitage of the Carceri, where he and his firstborn
sons, Bernard and Giles, Masseo, Rufino, and Silvestro, sought
the sweet fruits of solitude. Though the gray volcanic earth and
rock show everywhere through the green, the old mountain is not
grim.. Its lines are too undulating for grimness, its surface too
velvety; it lends itself, like all these human, habitable hills, too
readily to the magical transformation wrought by the sun. The
play of light upon it and upon the city backed up against it is a
never-ending mar\'el. Witness the triumphs of the sunset hour,
when the gray old walls of Assisi are turned to rose: Spello lies
upon its height like a heap of unstrung pearls, the mountains beyond
are pure violet, and a spectrally white moon hangs just above a
purple Subasio. Then suddenly the sun sinks behind Perugia and
^nd the glory vanishes. The color fades swiftly from rock and
VOL. CI.— 31
48^ ^5*^/^/ [July,
wall and tower, as life ebbs from a dying face, leaving them pale
and cold until another sun awakens them.
But this brief transfiguration wrought by the sunset upon
city and mountain is not a mere superficial glamour, for the rocks
of Subasio are really not gray, but rose-pink, and the walls of
Assisi, since they were dug out of its heart, are rose-pink also;
and the sun, by a happy accident, merely renders visible for a
brief instant the glory that is always theirs. Perhaps the loveliest
part of the spectacle is furnished by the hills across the valley to
the south, which hardly change their color or their lighting, and lie
quiet and misty, untouched by the changing splendor. Their hour
is sunrise, when the plain is a sea of mist, out of which rises the
dome of " the Angeli," turned golden by the first rays of the sun,
and upon their heights Bettona and Montefalco are visible for an
instant like wraiths of cities, spectral, evanescent.
But look at Assisi, itself, rising against Mt. Subasio to the
east. Almost the whole of it is visible — so small it is — ^so small,
to contain so much beauty and charm. From this spot, alone, you
can see well-nigh all the places that are associated with the memory
of the Saint : the little seventeenth century church that stands upon
the site of his birthplace; the cathedral where he was baptized;
the Church of Santa Chiara that marks the spot where he learned
his " small Latin,'* where he began to preach, where his body lay
while the gr^t tomb was building, and where, two years after his
death, he was proclaimed a Saint; the Church of Santa Maria
Maggiore, before which he made his great renunciation, and near it
the palace of the Bishop of Assisi, from which he was carried to the
Porziuncola to die — so rich in gracious and holy memories is this
little spot of earth. San Damiano, too, is all but visible, lying
among its olives, half way down the hill. The sound of its bell
calls up a vision of the dark time-stained little church, where
the crucifix spoke to his heart, where he began his labors to restore
the house of God, where, blind and ill, he composed his hymn of
praise for the beauty of the visible imiverse, and where his dead
body rested an instant, that the holy women who lived there might
look their last upon his beloved face. One only of the great Fran-
ciscan shrines is hidden from you here, the glorious church that
marks the place of his rest, the vision of austere beauty realized by
that erring but beloved son of Francis whose failure to understand
and follow his master's doctrine has given us what is, perhaps,
the most splendid shrine of art and religion that Italy contains.
1915] ASSISI 483
The narrow street that runs beneath your window leads to it,
connects it, indeed, with the group of Franciscan shrines in the
heart of the city, and through this street, though it is happily not
one of the main thoroughfares, flows much of the life of the little
town, a life that does not differ greatly from that of which St.
Francis was a part. It is, naturally, not a hurried life, but it is
characteristically Italian, which means that it always has charm
and, generally, beauty. From early morning imtil dark, with the
exception of the two or three hours of the afternoon siesta, there
passes a varied procession: brown little lads with graceful terra-
cotta jars poised upon their shoulders; girls bringing water from
the public fountain in vessels of burnished copper; wrinkled and
barefooted old women, with bright kerchiefs about their throats,
spinning wool as they walk; younger women with long trays of
bread, fresh from the public oven, balanced upon their heads, and,
of course, friars brown and black, bearded and shaven, sandalled
and shod. At all hours the patient donkeys pass, bearing, in the
autunm, great sacks of fragrant juniper, or oddly flattened casks
of wine poised precariously upon their backs; while huge oxen,
milk-white or silver-gray, with splendid far-spreading horns — " the
soft-eyed, snowy oxen that the gentle Virgil loved " — bring for an
instant, into the noisy little thoroughfare, " the divine silence of the
plain.'*
Too often, alas, there passes a sad little procession to the
Campo Santo, a crucifix, a chanting priest, a tiny coffin covered by
a pall, the members of a confraternity in their long gray habits,
and a few poorly clad men and women carrying unlighted candles
and murmuring Ave Marias. And if you descend and follow them,
you will pass out of the city by a half-ruined gateway, along a
road that skirts the mountain side, fragrant with acacia and cy-
press, to a sunny garden that hangs above the gorge of the Tescio.
There the Assisans all come to rest at last, peasants and nobles,
friars and priests, and the stranger that has the happy fortune,
if die he must, to die just here. On almost every tomb is an inscrip-
tion so touching, so unmistakably sincere despite its rhetoric, that it
wrings the heart and dims the eye — so close it brings one to " the
sense of tears in mortal things."
" Luigina, Luigina, dost thou not hear the pity of thy parents',
thy brothers' grief, who miss thee, who call upon thee always ? O
angel of peace, pray for them to the good God."
" To the sweet daughter, the good and gentle sister, Margherita.
484 ASSISI [July,
From the place where thou dost exult among blessed souls,
O piteous angel, turn thy consoling smile upon thy dear ones, who,
mindful of thy virtues, scatter tears and flowers upon thy tomb."
" O passerby, if the smile of thy children consoles thy heart,
or if upon the tomb of thy beloved thou dost weep the loss of every
good, of every hope, think upon the grief with which his parents
have left here !"
And this one, in a sterner strain, reminds us that in this
Italian people " of many lives," there persists the Roman tradition
of dignity and fortitude in grief: "A man of antique virtue and
religion born at Rome. Of modest fortune, he left to his sons
the rich inheritance and constant example of an honorable life."
And if on the Saturday evening within the Octave of the As-
sumption you should pass along the cypress-scented road, you would
see the little enclosure all aglow with flowers, and with tiny lamps
which burn far into the night, symbols of remembrance, of love, of
grief that does not die.
Many, indeed, and wonderful are the charms of the city at
night. You return at sunset from a walk in the valley and you
see, framed in the arch of some battlemented portal, a picture of
purple mountains and duSky sky, half orange and half rose, and
everywhere, in the plain and on the hillsides, the flaming bonfires
kindled by the peasants in honor of the feast of a saint. As you
make your way through the darkening streets, you pass the low
vaulted wine shops with their white walls, black chimney-pieces
and rude tables, about which men are drinking and talking, their
faces lighted from beneath by the yellow flames of the candles.
The young Assisan nobles do not hold nocturnal revels as in
the days of St. Francis, but the peasants sing their endless, quavering
laments, and at midnight in May the valley rings with the nightin-
gales. In some of the half-lighted cavernous streets you will see
the glimmer of a lamp burning before a little shrine, within which
a pensive Madonna, an ecstatic St. Francis, a pale St. Qare waver
from light to shadow as the lamp swings in the evening breeze.
The yellow moonlight floods the Church of Santa Chiara, throwing
great pools of blackness beneath the heavy buttresses, while at the
other end of the city the facade of San Francesco, rising from its
little grass-grown piazza, seems even more ethereally remote, more
exquisitely isolated than by day. " So," you say, as you stand
before it in the silence and peace of midnight, " so in its lovely
moonlight lives the soul."
1915] ASSISl 485
Under the uncompromising light of day, the city is, of course,
less attractive, yet, then, also, it has its charm for an eye not
too exacting in the matter of cleanliness. Like the streets of all
the hill towns, the streets of Assisi wind in and out, following
the curve of the mountain side, now climbing by a stone stairway
to a higher level, now dipping to a lower through dark, vaulted
passages. The old stone palaces that border them could never have
had great architectural pretensions, and are now, for the most part,
fallen into picturesque decay. Their Gothic doorways are walled
up, their lower windows are usually closed with rusty iron grills,
and festooned with cobwebs, and from within them not seldom can
be heard the voice of that faithful servant and friend of the family,
the ass, raised in raucous lament. But to the eye predisposed to
love them, the old walls have a grave, homely beauty of their own,
the beauty of bare simplicity and strength and long use — the beauty,
too, of soft tints in the rough Subasio stone, faded rose and deep
copper brown and pale orange. In early summer, delicate pink
stocks grow out of them, and later, above many a mouldering gray
wall, hangs a glory of hollyhock, geranium, and oleander. Now
and then you come unexpectedly upon architectural details of great
beauty : a delicate fifteenth century window in a facade otherwise
rough and unadorned, or an exquisitely car\'ed portal in a common-
place street of shops. But for the most part, Assisi has little of
the charm of moulded brick and carved stone that makes Siena,
for example, a keen and endlessly varied delight. Here, as in the
Umbrian landscape, you must be content with simple pleasures, or,
rather, you must half create them from the stores of the imagina-
tion and the heart. Nor, again, is there that fascinating array of
sculptured coats of arms and religious emblems in terra cotta that
make the house fronts of Siena a pictured chronicle of her past.
Yet in Assisi, too, you will find carved over many a doorway the
monogram of the Holy Name of Jesus, a memorial of Siena's great
Franciscan preacher and Saint, Bemardine, who visited the city in
1425, and by his eloquence, here as everywhere, turned the hearts of
her turbulent citizens into the way of peace.
Other records of the religious life of the past you will find
upon the facades of her palaces; such mottoes as "In Domino
Confido/' and *'Ubi Deus, Ibi Pax." Over a plain doorway in a
dark and somewhat squalid street, you can read an inscription that
takes you back to a momentous night in the year 1209, when a rich
man of Assisi invited Francis to sleep in his own room, that he
486 ASSISI [July,
might see for himself whether or no the young man's devout ways
were genuine. And after his host had feigned to go to sleep, the
Saint arose, and all that night with tears called upon the name of
God. In the morning the two men, after hearing Mass and devoutly
consulting the Gospels, instituted the Order of those who make
themselves poor for the love of God and man. " Here," so runs
the inscription, "the Blessed Bernard of Quintavalle received St.
Francis to supper and bed, and saw him in ecstasy."
In almost every street you will see, above the door of some
tiny church or oratory, an ancient fresco, so blurred and faded by
the sun and wind of centuries that only by looking closely can you
make out a sweet-faced Virgin, a kneeling angel, an enthroned
Christ, or a group of angular saints. Now and then there remains
some splendor of color, as in the Chapel of San Lorenzo above the
city, where the dalmatic of the young martyred deacon still blazes
a gorgeous golden yellow under the westering sun. But a visit
to the little museum will suggest how splendid the streets must
have been when these things were still cared for, and when there
was money and devotion to keep them bright. There you will see
a lovely Madonna surrounded by cherubs, which once adorned one
of the city gates, placed there, it is said, by the hand of Fiorenzo
di Lorenzo. You will see, also, a fragment of fresco taken from
an arch now destroyed, the Arco di Gori, in which a beautiful yoimg
Franciscan saint, blond, brown-eyed, brown-habited — St. Francis or
St. Antony of Padua — ^adores a lovely Child, who leans towards
him, as if from an invisible Mother's arms. The picture is ascribed,
doubtfully enough, to Giottino, but for beauty, charm, and devout
feeling, it is worthy of an even more distinguished parentage. You
will see the exquisite saints and angels of Matteo da Gualdo and
Ottaviano Nelli da Gubbio, which once made the Chapel of the
Pilgrims as glorious without as it is still lovely within.
Go some sunny afternoon and stand before the strange, almost
uncouth, facade of the Duomo, with its heavy, square tower, its
single low arcade, its three simple wheel windows, and the curious
beasts and still more curious human creatures that populate it. The
light falls upon it relentlessly, and there are no cool shadows, no
relief, no variety, and little beauty, or so at first it seems. But
gradually the charm of its simplicity takes hold of you, its almost
abstract beauty, its grim refusal to be lavish, its placid acceptance of
great spaces of untouched stone. Even where the sculpture is
richest, there is no suggestion of exuberance. It is spacious, in a
1915I ASSISI 487
word, and so far as the somewhat clumsy hand of the sculptor
could make it so, it is bold and free. The Duomo is, in truth, the
adequate expression of the mind of mediaeval Assisi, and of many
another little Italian commune, before the Franciscan movement
gave it tenderness and charm.
If you visit San Pietro and Santa Maria Maggiore, you will
have much the same experience. Both are bare: both, especially
the latter, a little forbidding; yet both make at last a kind of
exquisite appeal that hardly differs from beauty — a beauty, how-
ever, that requires something like effort and renunciation from him
who would respond to it. Santa Chiara is, however, in a quite
different class. It was built after the city had been stirred to a
new conception of beauty, and to a new skill in expressing it in
stone. Its color, the splendid sweep of its buttresses, the extreme
refinement of its rose window, the bastions that support it from
beneath, all show its relations to the great Basilica, where this new
and liberating lesson had been learned. But look at its severe and
slender tower, inclining, like a tall and graceful woman, a very
little towards the valley; look at the stem gray masses of its
convent buildings sw eeping down the hillside ; and you will perceive
that in learning this new lesson the native instinct for simplicity,
abstractness and austerity is only modified; it is not destroyed.
Nowhere will you perceive this so plainly as in the Basilica
itself, towards which, at last, we may make our way. It rises at
the further side of its little undulating grassy piazza — called by the
Assisans " the prato " — ^lifting its tall tower and the single gable of
its fagade against the illimitable blue of the noonday sky or the
dusky rose of sunset. From this point of view, your first reflection
will probably be, " How small it is ! " And, indeed, there is no posi-
tion from which it can be seen in all its grandeur and beauty at
once. From the piazza of the Lower Church, you will get a truer
impression of the size and intricacy of church and convent, and of
their splendid composition. Only from the valley below the city
can you perceive its bastioned magnificence, as of an impregnable,
spiritual citadel. But from the position that we have taken in
the Piazza of the Upper Church, better than from any other point
of view, you will see its beauty. And yet, if your first impression
is of its smallness, your second is quite as likely to be of its
plainness. A high, square tower divided into three vertical panels
with an open loggia at the top; a gabled facade with a single,
bif orated Gothic doorway, a rose-window above it, and a circular
488 ASSISI [July,
opening without tracery in the gable; two low plain wings, with a
small domed loggpia on one of them, evidently modem, and quite as
evidently out of harmony with the building: "And this,** you say,
"is all.'* But wait! See it at all hours of the day and of the
night; see it in sunlight and moonlight and starlight; return to
it from journeys to far more splendid shrines, and gradually the
conviction will come to you that, taken into account its use and
meaning, in all the world there cannot be a work of a more pure
and satisfying loveliness. At first, especially on a cloudy day,
the stone of it will seem to you ugly and discolored. But see
it when the stm warms it into life, study the gradations of its
color from deep orange near the earth, through pale amber, to the
most delicate ivory near the top, and you will confess that of
all the titles of praise that may be applied to it, none suits it
more perfectly than that exquisite phrase applied to the loved one
in the Canticle of Canticles, and to the Blessed Virgin Mary, in
the Litany of Loreto — ^the Tower of Ivory.
There could hardly be a better illustration than this church
of what Wordsworth says of his poet :
You must love him ere to you
He will seem worthy of your love.
Like " the King's Daughter,** the Basilica of San Francesco is " all
glorious within." But its inner vesture is far more precious than
" wrought gold," for the spirit of man has clothed it with the
very forms and colors of the soul made visible. Yet this is not
a splendor to strike the eye of the first comer, nor at once. You
enter the Lower Church some afternoon out of the blinding sun-
light of the Piazza. At first you see nothing but the darkness,
feel nothing but the weight of the low heavy arches, so close
above your head. Again you say, "And this is all.** But after
a little you perceive that the darkness is illuminated by a faint
radiance, as of jewels that shine softly through a silver veil, as
of many-colored fires that gleam dimly in moonlit waters. And
then you become aware that these are windows, beautiful beyond
description, storied with the lives of saints and martyrs, and stained
with the hues of paradise. You pass on through the gloomy nave
and stand before the high altar. Above your head are the " alle-
gories" of Giotto, the most exquisite interpretations of sublime
ideas in form and color that the thirteenth century attained. But,
1915I Assist 489
except for a few brief moments in the late afternoon, they are seen
only as an assemblage of figures painted in sombre tones — interest-
ing, indeed, but quite ineffective. You turn into the right transept,
and there the spell will begin to work upon you, a spell that will
never lose its power, that will draw you again and again by the
insatiable desire of complete spiritual possession that love and beauty
know, and that will cause you, when far away, to think of this
spot with desire still unsatisfied. For, before you is the great
Madonna ascribed to Cimabue, as august, with its narrow limits,
as the famous maestd of Duccio, and in color and expression far
more splendid. When the sunlight falls directly upon it — ^but this,
too, must be in the late afternoon — its soft orange and russet
flame into glowing, almost hot, red gold. But even in the dimmer
light its beauty is enthralling; the four grave angels press so
closely to the Virgin's throne as if eager to draw near to her
who sits upon it; the young Virgin, herself, is so gravely beautiful
with a rich, almost cloying, loveliness that makes the age of the
picture seem incredible — so modern it is, despite the angularity of
a lingering Byzantinism. At the edge of the picture stands St.
Francis, slight, plain, insignificant, a little shamefaced, it would
appear, to have intruded amid these splendors. His face wears
the smile with which he must have responded to Fra Massco's
question, " Why does all the world follow you, who are neither
beautiful nor wise nor noble?" "Because," replied the Saint,
" God found upon earth no creature more worthless than I, and so
He chose me to confound the nobility, the grandeur, the beauty,
the strength, and the wisdom of the world."
Every inch of vault and wall in this transept is covered with
precious workmanship, so exquisitely fine that not even an attention
sharpened by long looking can distinguish the thousands of well-
nigh imperceptible lovelinesses that make up the total eflFect of
splendor. Take, for a single example, the architecture that forms
the background in many of the frescoes. These graceful structures
of ivory, mosaic, and enamel are not for mortal man to dwell in.
Like the lilies of the field in a Fra Angelico Paradise, like the
blessed angels, themselves, they are there only to adorn the sacred
intercourse of the Saints; and, yet, their refinement of form, their
delicacy of coloring and of finish, are as complete as if they were
ends in themselves. The Gothic arches in the frescoes of the
Presentation in the Temple are covered with a Cosmatesque mosaic
of glass and gold and colored marbles, and in the lunette above the
490 ASSISI [July,
doorway in the Adoration of the Magi, there is a white arabesque
upon a blue background as exquisitely fine and pure as a Delia
Robbia relief.
And now the rays of the setting sun begin to strike through
the western windows of the apse, and one by one the sombre figures
awake to life. A ray falls upon the Magdalen kneeling at the
foot of the Cross in Giotto's great Crucifixion, and rekindles the
faded crimson of her mantle and the red gold of her hair. It plays
about the angelic "birds of God," as with gestures of woe and
compassion they fly about the Crucified, leaving behind them, shaken
out from the folds of their raiment, a misty, nebular light.
Simone's St. Clare, that has glimmered with the pale radiance of
a clouded moon, shines out in plenilunar brightness. In the oppo-
site transept a ray falls directly upon the Madonna of Lorenzetti,
and shows it to be wrought of enamel upon gold. The allegories
above the high altar begin to live; Obedience, with finger on lip,
lays his yoke upon the shoulders of a kneeling friar ; Chastity sits
in her guarded tower, remote and unapproachable; radiant angels
sway towards the throne of the glorified Francis; and the same
Francis, placed where every novice, when he lifts his eyes from
his book in choir, must see him, plights his eternal troth to sublime
Poverty. And if it is Sunday or a high feast day, and the candles
are lighted on the altar for Benediction, a new beauty awaits you.
The tones of the allegories are fused into a color indescribably soft
and glowing, a subtle blending of rose and orange, comparable only
to the color of a ripe peach, and this will become the tone with which
they will live in your memory. It is as if Giotto painted them to be
seen by candle light; as if in this region of hoarded joys and reticent
lovelinesses, there should be but one instant in the twenty- four hours
when the supreme loveliness of all could speak to the heart. More
lavish beauty there is elsewhere, more arresting, more astonishing;
but not in all the world, it may be, a beauty of a more profound
and intimate appeal.
As the shadows begin to darken, you climb the long stairway
that leads from the sacristy into the Upper Church. It is — one
is not the first to say so! — like passing from the world as all
the saints and mystics have seen it — all, be it remembered, save
Francis of Assisi — ^. world of shadows, brightened by gleams of
celestial radiance, into the high, pure, constant glory of paradise.
For here, at whatever hour, there are light and fair color and
soaring arches. The sunshine strikes all day long through windows
191 5] ASSISI 491
whose tones are more brilliant than those in the Lower Church,
if less harmonious; the vault glows with strong, bright color,
orange and blue and green, and the walls with the fresh, vivid
hues — alas, too vivid and too fresh — of Giotto's repainted frescoes.
And yet it is not a garish day that reigns here. The light is soft
and soothing, like the warm glow of many candles. It is a paradise
still faintly reminiscent of the shadows of earth, and though
aureoled saints are enthroned in the vaulting, and ranks of rose-
winged angels gaze down from high, arcaded galleries, it is a
paradise vividly reminiscent of the life of earth. For along the
walls are the touching histories, at once so human and so mystical,
in which Giotto, the dramatic, following the guidance of St. Bona-
venture, the mystic, has set forth the seraphic epopoeia. They are
filled with an intense humanity, these frescoes, not with the delicate,
ethereal beings of Simone, nor with the grandiose creations of
Cimabue, but with dignified citizens, clumsy peasants, g^ve and
earnest churchmen, and simple friars, all placed amid surroundings
as sharply realized as Giotto's art could realize them. It is precisely
this human quality that gives its characteristic note to the church,
that makes it, with all its soaring aspiration, so homely and so
touching; in a word, so Fr;anciscan.
Yet, with all its charm and interest, one does not linger here as
in the Lower Church, nor return to it so often, perhaps because
one's proper life is not in paradise, but amid the shadows, the
vicissitudes, the mysteries of earth. And in the Lower Church,
after the marvelous north transept, one returns oftenest and with
most affection to the Chapel dedicated to St. Martin of Tours, and
painted by Simone Martini of Siena. Here the windows, designed
also by the Sienese painter, blaze gorgeously at noonday with ruby
and topaz, amethyst and emerald; here the life of the great bishop,
so like St. Francis in his youth, is portrayed in forms and colors
of an almost unearthly loveliness. Venturi's observation that
Simone lavished upon his saints the splendors of earth, while
Giotto gave them moral grandeur, is inadequate enough. To see
nothing in these frescoes but the delicacy and grace of a Sienese
goldsmith, is to miss the point of them. There are indeed ravishing
harmonies of softly blended color, there is the glint of gold, the
pomp of ecclesiastical ceremony, the panoply of war, for the painter
came from soft Siena, the home of luxury and gayety and grace.
But he came also from Siena, the elect city of the Virgin, the city
that was worthy to be the birthplace of Catherine Benincasa; and
492 ASSISI [July,
so there are also fair young faces radiant with the light of holy
innocence, and there are aged ones with the glory of the other
world upon them. In the figure of the young hero giving alms to
the poor, receiving in a vision of the night the approbation of his
Lord, turning his back upon the rewards of earthly welfare to
fight only under the standard of the Cross, the painter has written
for all to read the epic of saintly youth. Little wonder that
toil-worn peasants, seated on the steps of the Chapel, lift adoring
eyes to these gracious and radiant forms as to beings of another
world, the very jcunesse doree of heaven.
These are some of the elements in the spell that is laid upon
you in this place; but there are others less obvious, requiring longer
residence and more intimate acquaintance, but even more compelling.
For these walls are not only bright with the fading beauty of
yesterday, they are fair with the peace of to-day. This is a temple
raised to the memory of a soul that lives immortally, and, after
seven hundred years, his sons serve it with undiminished devotion.
You see them coming and going about their several functions,
simple, dignified, kindly, with that profound goodness of heart
which is the seal of their Franciscan inheritance. The priests offer
their Masses, hear confessions, do the honors of their Church, work
in their gardens, study in their cells, serve the tiny chapels that
depend upon the Basilica, spend long hours in choir and before
the Blessed Sacrament. The lay brothers perform the hiunWer
ministries of keeping clean and orderly the church that they love,
and of feeding the poor who come to them for succor. The novices
pass their day in study, in prayer, in exercise, and when they kneel
to kiss the steps of the altar before begpinning the Divine Office,
they seem to bear upon their grave, recollected young faces the light
of an invincible peace. Here life passes almost without change,
in one of the highest of ministries, the keeping alive in the hearts
of men devotion to a sacred memory. Here, in the midst of the
fluctuating aims of our restless, disordered days, is the iminter-
rupted, the persistent, the religious — in the ancient sense of the
word — devotion to one ideal, a continuity of life that annuls the
years, that illumines the night of our perplexity with the stars of
another heaven. Here the sons of Francis still speak the mystic
language that he taught the world, the language of love, of pity, of
brotherhood, above the tomb in which he sleeps amid " the peace
of eternal things."
VOCATION.
BY WALTER ELLIOTT, C.S.P.
lOCATION is but the soul's more ardent embrace of
God, close and clinging. On the part of God it is
the wooing of a soul by His Holy Spirit, inspiring
the deeper longing uttered by the bride in the Can-
ticle : "Let Him kiss me with the kiss of His mouth "
(Cant. i. i). It is ennobling joy and purifying sorrow more
definite and compelling by far than ordinary devotional feeling;
the drawing of God to a more tender embrace. " Vocation is
nothing else than this," says St. Francis de Sales : " Height of
courage, lively realization of eternity, love of holy humility, and
some sweetness of devotion when praying and whilst considering the
divine goodness."^ Of all our early experiences of God's favor,
it is one of the dearest of all, and, says St. Mary Magdalen of
Pazzi, " after Baptism it is the holiest." No wonder; for vocation
is the deeper sinking into our soul of the seal of predestination,
being an act of God almost absolutely excluding our own participa-
tion. So says our Lord : " You have not chosen Me, but I have
chosen you" (John xv. i6). It was not created by any earthly
guide, this superior quality of a holy life — even if he were a miracle
worker it would surpass his power; but by that Supreme Spiritual
Director Who began it with my very being, " Who separated me
from my mother's womb, and called me by His grace " (Gal. i. 15)
— this innermost thrill of grace, this brightest light of wisdom, this
fiercest appetite for heavenly meats. My director tests my resolu-
tion, refines my spiritual taste; he may even first discover to me
that I am under a spell of divinity more than common. But voca-
tion is too essential a change to be aught else than a direct boon
from God, the most subtle essence of all our sacramental graces.
It is a grace like conversion to the faith :
There was a place, there was a time,
Whether by night or day.
Thy Spirit came and left that gift.
And went upon His way.
How many hearts Thou mightest have had
More innocent than mine.
How many souls more worthy far
Of that sweet touch of Thine!
'-Letters to Persons in Religion, Mackey, p. 398.
494 VOCATION [July,
Thy choice, O God of goodness 1 then
I lovingly adore ;
O give me grace to keep Thy grace,
And grace to merit more.*
As Faber sings : " There was a place, there was a time, whether
by night or day," when the Holy Spirit shot this ray of amazing
light into the soul, suddenly revealing the worth of the soul and the
meanness of all else created; and the entrancing glory of Christ
Jesus. The occasion was a powerful sermon, perhaps, or a mission.
Often it is the overwhelming rigor of God's sovereign majesty in
the stroke of death in one's family. Again it is the whispering
of a gentle air (3 Kings xix. 12) breathed into the spirit by devout
companionship, gathering volume and harmony with the weeks and
months as they pass. Sometimes a vocation antedates all one's
recollection; the infusion of this grace, so entrancing, so all-em-
bracing, is blended indisting^ishably with the pious aspirations of
earliest childhood, growing in its fascination with the years until
it is full grown with one's manhood.
So that vocation is to be viewed as a call from the ordinary
service of God to very fervent devotedness. It demands a more
than common " height of courage," a livelier " realization of His
eternity," a weariness of soul with commonplace goodness; being
born of a special choice and gift of God.
There is a general union with God effected by Baptism, in
which Christians are united to Him in this divine sacrament, binding
them to keep His commandments and those of Holy Church, to
perform good works and to practise the divine virtues of faith,
hope and charity — ^a true union with God, and inspiring valid hopes
of Paradise. And this union is maintained by confession and
Communion and Mass and a good custom of prayer. Those who
have thus been united to God in a personal and real sense, as if
verily to their own God, are not bound to do more; they have
attained the end and aim of their life by the general and common
way of the commandments well observed. Such souls, to be sure,
feel the drawing to perfection of observance in God's service, but
it is the general tendency to progress from good to better that they
feel, rather than the diviner ambition to climb upwards from better
to the very best. All Christians have that indistinct call to perfec-
■Fabcr's Hymn on Conversion.
19151 VOCATION 495
tion; but not all experience the decisive call known as a vocation.
From the multitude of good Christians the Holy Spirit selects here
a few and there a few by an inspiration of grace altogether special ;
they are drawn by extraordinary impulses to keep the command-
ments with fervor far above the average, and to add to them in
some way or other the counsels of Christ for perfect dedication
to His service. Those feel to the roots of their being a drawing
to what is known as a holy life, a way of thinking and acting far
exceeding that of the average of ordinary good Christians. This
grace it is that is called a vocation, a divine calling.
Under wise advice persons so influenced quidcly adopt a system
of devout practices. Sometimes they decide to join communities,
the better to gain their end of absolute dedication to God ; or they
enter the sacred priesthood. But the great majority of them, no
more from necessity than from choice, stay in this world's ordinary
life, themselves quite extraordinary both in spiritual motive and
outward achievement. The rules and customs, whether of those
that live in a commtmity, in the priesthood, or among ordinary
people, are simply the result of that mighty breath from above
which first stirred this new life within them. Their routine of
existence, wheresoever it is followed, rigorously secures special
times for mental prayer, provides for spiritual reading, holy silence,
frequent reception of the Sacraments. The soul yearns for God in
its secret depths as a habit; and calls on Him by constant loving
aspirations of both word and thought. Continual self-restraint
is practised in close imitation of Christ, whereby all human passions,
weaknesses and antipathies are keenly watched and firmly repressed.
Together with all this, which concerns one's dealings with God,
their daily duties of life are done with God in view, however trifling
they may seem, and various works of charity towards one's neighbor
are undertaken, according as brotherly love feels divine impulses,
and the dispositions of Providence point the way.
II.
All this reveals the difference between a soul with a vocation
and another without one. Essentially it is not the difference
between a devout drawing to a religious order or the priesthood
and the absence of such a call. This calling is, of course, a
vocation; indeed it commonly monopolizes the name; but it is
rather a second vocation. The original one may be pointed by God
to the cloister or to the sanctuary, or it may not. Let us first treat
of it in its more unrestricted sense, namely, a peculiar elevation
1
496 VOCATION [July,
of motives and strengthening of purpose in loving and serving
God in any state He may choose for us.
The bulk of mankind are devoted to this world as to a perma-
nent and wholly delectable condition. Contentment with it is char-
acteristic of even some good living Catholics. It is only the quite
small minority who are gifted with so vivid a sense of God's joys in
heaven as to find this world decidedly wearisome, unless in so far as
they can live in it wholly for God's honor, and for His sake in
the service of their neighbor. This was expressed concisely by
the late Mother Mabel Digby of the Order of the Sacred Heart:
"We must be pilgrims on earth, not tourists.*' History gives us a
vivid illustration. When St. Bernard and his four brothers had
bid farewell to their father, and were going to the Cistercian
Monastery, they were met by their little brother Nivard at the
castle gate; he was playing there with some other little boys.
Guido, the eldest of the family, embraced him and said : " My little
brother, do you see this castle and these lands? Well, all this
will now be yours — ^yours alone — for we are all going away to be
monks." " What! " exclaimed the child, "are you going to take
heaven for yourselves and leave the earth for me ? The division is
not a fair one." He dropped his playthings and joined his brothers,
nor could his father and his friends prevail on him to remain at
home. Thus the dominant note of every vocation is the sense of
difference between earth and heaven. An irresistible force moves
the soul from the perishing things of time to the glories of the
eternal years. As a fervent spirit sang of old : "All my bones shall
say: Lord, who is like to Thee? " (Ps. xxxiv. lo.)
Surely this gift from on high of an overflowing heart of love
cannot be granted to those alone who are destined for the cloister — -
" a false and vain notion " to quote the words of Cardinal Bona.*
Although the Christian people are divided into two states, the secular
and the religious, they all tend to the same end though by different
routes, and among the secular Christians not a few are found (as
the same author insists) " in whom contempt of the world, poverty
of spirit, love of the cross," rule all their conduct. He adds:
" The difference is that religious being bound by vows and rules,
are obliged more strictly to perfection than those who live in the
world." In other respects God invites all to one and the same way
of life, and one and the same Gospel has been preached to them.
" Since God," continues Bona, " commands nothing but charity,
forbids nothing but self-love, there is no difference as far as that is
* Principles of a Christian Life, ch. vi.
1915] VOCATION 497
concerned; there is no exception of persons." In the rating and
ruling of our lives by our Saviour no one in any state shall speak
an idle word under peril of His judgment (Matt. xii. 36) : no one
whatsoever shall be angry (Matt. v. 22; and chapters vi. and vii.) ;
everyone whatsoever must suppress foul glances and evil thoughts ;
must love his enemies; must not resist evil treatment. Everyone
in every state of life has heard the call to be meek towards men and
to mourn towards God for his sins. He has taught all of us to
pray always. Whether we be' monks or married people, in this
He makes no distinction. But in various particular cases a marked
difference is evident; in them we find altogether exceptional im-
pulses to fervor in the observance of these maxims of the Gospel.
And this is rightly to be called vocation.
All Christians are in some true sense called to renounce all
things; to hate our life here for the sake of life hereafter; to deny
ourselves; to enter the narrow gate. "He makes no exception,"
again says Cardinal Bona, " in favor of any member of the human
race." What St. Paul exhorts all to do, even those who are
married and have children — is it less than the discipline of a
monastic life? ** It remaineth that they also who have wives,
be as if they had none; and they that weep, as though they wept
not; and they that rejoice, as if they rejoiced not; and they that
buy as though they possessed not ; and they that use this world, as
if they used it not; for the fashion of this world passeth away "
( I Cor. vii. 29-31 ). Therefore when Christ says : " Be ye perfect,
as your heavenly Father is perfect". (Matt. v. 48), He speaks to
all the faithful. But yet He reserves to certain ones a more
personal and intimate call ; almost an imperative one. His universal
invitation is heard at the gates of all states of life; it is addressed to
every heart. But to some Christians He opens wide His arms, and
not an invitation of love but an embrace is granted them. St.
Francis de Sales calls this a " partictdar influence of perfection,"
and it claims and holds a particular right to the term vocation.
He adds that those who respond to it " dedicate themselves to God
to serve Him forever;" and he instances bishops and priests and
members of religious orders and congregations under vows. But
he does not stop there ; he does not fail to include devout persons
in secular states of life: "All those who of set purpose produce
deep and strong resolutions of following the will of God, making for
this end retreats of some days, that they may stir up their souls by
divers spiritual exercises to the entire reformation of their life."^
VOL. Cl.~32 *Love of God, Book XII., viii.
498 VOCATION [July,
III.
It happens, therefore, that many souls live very holily in the
world, quite unaware that they are under a spell of divine grace
which is unusual — a vocation: they hardly know the meaning of
the word ; and yet sometimes they are models fit for the cloister to
imitate. In the lives of the Fathers of the Desert, we read that
St. Macarius, a hero of every virtue, was once tempted with vain-
glory, and so violently that he begged God to humble him. His
prayer was heard. A voice from heaven directed him to journey
to a distant city, and in a certain street he would find two women
who would fetch down his pride, and show him a height of perfec-
tion above his own. He found them living together in one house,
but he saw nothing remarkable about them. Macarius begged them
to show him their way of life. " O that is not worth the trouble.
Father " — so they answered him — " for fifteen years we have lived
quietly and peaceably together; we have never exchanged an evil
word, have been obedient to our husbands, have loved silence, and
have kept ourselves in the presence of God in all our housdiold
affairs. That is all we can do for love of Him, and it is, alas, very
little." But the narrative says that St. Macarius returned to his
desert edified and ashamed. To many such souls God has granted
miracles, and Holy Church has placed not a few of them in her
list of the canonized. Each of us can recall the names of the
uncanonized and uncloistered holy ones of our own acquaintance,
whom God has- carried to perfection without the aid of the sacred
vows of religion, without the solace of the mutual love of devout
associates, and without their powerful example; and who have none
the less spent a lifetime valiantly struggling day and night in a
career of self-conquest, self-forgetfulness in the service of others,
and entire absorption in the love of Jesus Christ.
" Cranks " these are called by worldly Catholics, fanatics by
Protestants : marveling that a man of family and a business man
should be a daily communicant, read devout books, teach in Sunday-
school, visit the poor, and be the priest's factotum. His children
call their home a monastery, but they secretly worship him — ^and
are innocently happy. Perhaps it is a woman. She feels marriage
and motherhood a divine vocation. And she is the anxious, prayer-
ful, austere and yet most gentle priestess of that shrine of Christ's
love, a Christian home. We have seen how the Holy Ghost
sends pilgrims to her from the hermitages of the desert. Perhaps
1915] VOCATION 499
it is a single woman. Ah ! those blessed old maids ! Ever depend-
ent, sometimes despised, with faded face and ever blooming heart,
the salt of the earth to many a parish, the light of the world in
multitudes of families. It may be a widow, whose bereavement
has been heaven's plainest call to perfection, and whose heart is
an always flowing fount of peace and mutual affection to her chil-
dren and her friends.
IV.
Let us now consider the vocational difference between the
world and the priesthood or the cloister, as well as the selection of
one order rather than another. It was " the vanity of the world,"
St. Teresa tells us, and the fascination of eternity, that made her
become a nun. But, she adds, it was just her girlish affection
for Juana Suarez, a Carmelite nun, that made her choose that
particular order. Nor does she say this was an unworthy motive,
for the deeper drift of her soul was heavenward, and as long as
she was embarked on its waves, it was not in her case so essential
what the ship was named. Later on, when God gave the current of
His attraction the stern swiftness of fearful austerity, her vocation
then would have needed plainer particularization.
Some have a vocation to the organism of an order and not
to the life of it; to the missions or the colleges; to the schools
or the hospitals ; rather than to the prayer and silence, the obedience
and the poverty essential in all orders. This is a topsy-turvy voca-
tion, and experience in due time compels a readjustment, as pain-
ful as the substitution under a house already built of a new and
solid foundation instead of the old and defective one. But it is
wonderful how often this miracle of displacement and substitution
is wrought — effectively, happily, even if painfully.
The volume of the divine influence — the dominant note of this
voice from heaven — is always to go out of Egypt, and into the
wilderness, out of worldliness into the intimacy of divine love.
In the divine counsels it is decreed of such a soul : " I will lead
her into the wilderness, and there I will speak to her heart " (Osee
ii. 14). God alone in time and eternity is the burden of this
influence and its term, absolutely, invariably, inviolably. So far
the main, absorbing and permanent, but somewhat undefined, draw-
ing. This precedes ; a calling more definite as to place and society
follows after, pointing the soul to the particular means of gratifying
its yearning for God and His close service. Speaking of this
500 VOCATION [July,
particular choice St. Francis de Sales teaches: "The means of
serving God we must only will quietly and lightly, so that if we are
hindered in the employment of them we may not be greatly
disturbed."*^ In making choice of this "means," of this special
order rather than of another, a spiritual adviser's views are very
wisely accepted. A vocation is essential for perfection; it is acci-
dental for selecting a particular environment. The drawing of
God for perfect service is resistless, peremptory ; but the discrimina-
tion as to form and quality and place and occupation and all other
contingent is discretionary. That choice once made it soon grows
in holiness; it borrows largely of the imperious force of the original
call, and must loyally be adhered to. As to the choice of the priest-
hood, however, it must be said that this particular drawing far
outranks in power and distinctness that which attracts one to any
other holy condition. And also when one thinks of entering a
contemplative order, the drawing should be exceptionally strong,
and should be very deliberately considered, and be counseled un-
equivocally by one's director.
As between living in the world and going to the seminary
or to a novitiate, one must choose deliberately, under God's eye,
and with good counsel. Some think that going into the priest-
hood or into an order is escaping from the devil finally and forever ;
but that is not true of any retreat, except that into purgatory and
heaven. You may lead a perfect life in the world or in the cloister.
Yet if God would have you in the cloister, running away from
it is running into danger. If He would have you stay in the
world, running out of the world is running into danger, even though
you enter the holiest cloister, yea even the sanctuary itself.
The need of direction both in deciding a vocation and guiding
it is palpable. St. Paul was converted by a miracle ; but it did not
follow that he should therefore be an apostle, or even be allowed
to preach. This was to be decided by no heavenly vision, but just
by human instrumentality provided by God after He had spent
three days of physical and spiritual groping. "What wouldst Thou
have me to do ? " he begged of the Lord. And the answer was to
go to a certain man's house in a certain street in Damascus, and
there wait. In due time Grod's outward guidance by man was added
Jo and blended with His inward words direct from Himself (Acts
^Letters to Persons in Religion, Macke^, p. ?02.
1915] VOCATION 501
ix.). It is not otherwise with even the most powerful interior
vocation. One must have it tested by God's representatives, and
that in various ways. The genuine gold of a coin is revealed not
only by the familiar stamp of the mint, or the delicate touch of
the bank teller, but also by weight in the hand and in the scales,
the ringing music of its tone upon the counter. So must it be with
the manifestation of a vocation.
The signs of a true vocation are many; but they all assemble
about the main sign : joy in the prospect of being in life and death
wholly devoted to God. Joy steadfast and regnant in one's better
moments and easily recalled in one's moment's of distraction;
stretching over a notable lapse of time; hindered of its fruition (if
one would quit the world) by no natural tie or duty. If this state
of mind, so determined and so jubilant, is lacking or is only inter-
mittent, and does not grow towards becoming permanent, if it is
not on the whole a firm and persevering condition, then the vocation
is artificial, man-made, and must be shaken off just as any other
delusion.
One may distinguish between a sane, solid vocation and one
that is only evanescent, a spasm of devotion, a distillation of the
ferment of an enthusiastic temperament, by a simple test. Know
the tree by its fruits. If these longings heavenward generate more
kindly behavior at home, and more humility everywhere; a steadier
observance of sound devotional customs; a sense of unworthiness
quite equal to the sense of yearning for a holier state of life:
then (if such conditions outlast the first month or two of their
entrance into the soul) the hand of God is to be recognized. But
if this sweetness of devotion is but for oneself; if it makes us
lofty and censorious; if it shuns advice and resents guidance; then
the vocation is a voice from the nether world, or a suggestion of
one's native vainglory, or a phantasm of a visionary temperament.
It is a hard thing to say, but wholly justified by experience,
that one must be not exactly eager but yet ready to doubt the
validity of these longings for entrance into a holier state in their
incipient stage. Unwise and inexperienced confessors often add
to the membership of communities by introducing mere intruders.
Now as the inmates of prisons remember the over-indulgent parents
who made them criminals by petting and spoiling them in childhood,
so do religious sometimes bitterly condemn the sentimental con-
fessors or the goody-goody novice masters who coddled and petted
them into a state of life to which God had not called them.
502 VOCATION [July,
VL
A curious illustration of the readiness with which the saints
dismissed undesirable novices is given by St. Teresa. She insisted
on dismissal as soon as the postulant's vocation was seriously and
persistently doubted of. Therefore, says the Archbishop of Evora,
in his preface to the first edition of St. Teresa's Way of Perfection,
" she thought it imprudent to receive nuns coming from a great
distance, as it might not be convenient to send them back to their
homes if the necessity arose."
But when the vocation has been identified as real and no out-
ward obstacle hinders, there can be no further deliberating ; nor any
philosophizing; submission (and O how sweet is the joy of such an
act, though often mingled with holy pain!) must follow at once.
One is not drawn to a perfect life by arguments but by grace,
and it is shameful to argue and balance pros and cons about standing
firm when God has set one in the battle front. In the olden time,
indeed, there was some room allowed for weakness of nature.
" Let me, I pray thee, go and kiss my father and my mother, and
then I will follow thee " (3 Kings xix. 20). This was the request
of Eliseus, when EHas gave him his vocation to be a prophet of
God. And his petition was granted him : " Go, and return back,"
said Elias. Not so for a disciple of Jesus. One whom He called
answered thus : " Lord, suffer me first to go, and to bury my father.
And Jesus said to him : Let the dead bury their dead ; but go thou
and preach the Gospel. And another said: I will follow Thee,
Lord ; but let me first take my leave of them that are at my house.
Jesus said to him: No man putting his hand to the plough, and
looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God" (Luke ix. 59-62).
The Master's tone is stern and peremptory. Leave everything the
first possible moment. Do it instantly, not turning back even to
weep over the corpse of a beloved parent; or to say farewell to
dear ones ; not even looking back. Have neither profit, nor honor,
nor comfort in view. "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the
air nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head "
(Matt. viii. 20). Fascinated by this Master, absorbed by His love,
think nothing of ease and comfort, everything of the love and the
companionship of Jesus to which you are now called.
A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT.
(PAUL LOEWENGARD.)
BY JOSEPH L. o'bRIEN, M.A.
|HE pages of the Catholic press of this country have of
late been filled with stories of the extraordinary signs
of religious re-awakening throughout France— espe-
cially among the rank and file of the French army.
Adversity has torn the mask of indifference from the
face of that once glorious Catholic land, and in the hours of sore
distress and bitter trial, when the life of the nation hangs, mayhap,
in the balance, the patriotism of the people is being fired by the
religion against which every destructive agency of man and devil
was directed during the past century. France suffering is France
Catholic. France glorious once more is France Catholic once more.
" The armies of France die Catholic," writes a well-known English
correspondent. The anti-Catholic laws passed some years ago by
the enemies of religion, which forced priests and seminary students
into military service — ^no doubt with the hope that the corrupt life
of the barracks and camp would destroy their vocations — ^have
brought forth abundant and unexpected fruit Religion has been
carried into the very trenches. The Sacraments are at hand, and
are administered even before first aid from the Red Cross. True
indeed it is — the armies of Fr;ance die Catholic.
Yet the great war has but brought the religious question to
a climax. For years back signs have not been wanting which
indicated that the outraged conscience of the French nation was
recoiling from the mires into which pseudo-science and political
corruption were dragging it. The world at large knows of the
crime of the Scales latques perpetrated in the name of liberty.
The Catholic schools were persecuted and crippled and finally dis-
solved, and the members of the religious orders exiled, so that the
serpent of the lay school might have free scope. Even the name
of God was blotted from the children's school books. The lay
school has had time to prove itself. A whole generation has
eaten of its fruit. And the result? Syndicalism and anti-militar-
ism went hand in hand, shattering the ideal of patriotism as the lay
school grew in power; doctrines fatal alike to State and private
property, and to the family, were openly taught; the resources of
504 A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT [July,
the government were taxed to put down constantly recurring
general strikes; widespread financial and political corruption; the
open defiance of law and order by the criminal classes, and the
staggering number of mere youths tried for most serious crimes;
the frequency of suicide; the decrease in the birth rate and the rise
in the divorce rate ; the general relaxation of the old moral stand-
ards in private as in public life, and the decay of the sanctions which
guarded them — such conditions are patent even to the casual
observer of the trend of affairs in France during the past decade.
With the decline of Catholicism and the destruction of Catholic
educational ideals, all things which go to make up the Christian
moral order showed a corresponding decline.
Those who loved France began to combat such conditions.
" They understood that the evils with which they were stricken
had a source other than their own personality — ^that the nation
was stricken with them. And with an analysis marvelously clear
they have discovered, if not all the sources, at least the proxi-
mate and the most powerful source of the blight — ^the upheaval
of 1789 which cut us away from our ancestors."^ Accepted
leaders of the intellectual life of the nation began to point out
that no lasting foundations can be laid on mere negation; that
atheism and destruction go hand in hand. Back to the traditions
of our fathers, back to the practice of the religion of our fathers,
was their cry, and especially in the literature of the day was their
cry taken up. Conversions in the literary world were nimierous,
and men like Bourget, and Coppee, Brunetiere and Huysmanns,
men who moulded opinions in France, returned to the Church and
openly avowed that nothing great in life or art can thrive without
the saving influence of religion. These forces have been working
silently for the past decade, and many of the leaders of the intel-
lectual >yorld in Fr^ance have set the example of deep devotion to
the Church of France.
But the people! The masses! Little hope was entertained
for their immediate awakening, for the influences of philosophy
and literature and art are slow to take hold of them. The poison
of irreligion had eaten into the vitals of the working class, and
the poison was repeatedly given without scruple by the politicians
who exploited it. Suddenly the storm of war breaks on the nation,
and the antidote is at hand. CJerman shot and shell — the fear of
the Teuton invader, have cleared away the mists of corruption
*Paul Bourget.
1915] A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT 505
and the soul of the people stands revealed ready to be strengthened
by a baptism of fire. From a Catholic point of view the outlook
for the next decade is most encouraging. When the storm is
cleared, it is not too much to hope that we shall find France as a
nation reunited again about the Cross which she dragged down but
never rejected.
Among the younger men who have been very active in the
Catholic literary movement in France during the past few years,
and who have been instrumental in its remarkable success, the
name of Paul Loewengard has sprung into prominence. As yet he
has not attracted the attention outside of France that has been
given to a Bourget or a Coppee, or other Catholic writers who are
among the really great French masters. Nor at home has he yet
been placed among the maitres de I'heure. But he is still young.
His past work reveals a master's touch and promises much. At
present we are not engaged with him as a litterateur. It is the
story of his life that attracts us: a story from which we have
much to learn. He tells the story himself in his powerful auto-
biography. La Splendeur Catholique — a book which really merited
the attention given it by the French critics, and which, as a con-
tribution to what we may call the "apologetics of literature,"
ranks with the notable stories of conversion as told by a Benson
or a Jorgensen or a von Ruville. For La Splendeur Catholique
tells the story of the conversion of a sensual free-thinking young
Jew, who had attracted no little attention in literary circles as
the author of three volumes of poetry characterized by a spirit
of most refined sensuality and ironical blasphemy. The book is a
splendid apology for the Catholic Church, and should prove of great
interest to Catholics throughout the world, for it is at once a
terrible exposition of modern French educational methods, and of
the corruption of the Synagogue. The Jews are a power in France,
and perhaps a danger to the life of the nation. With the Free-
masons they have been at the root of all the persecutions the Church
has been subjected to during the past century. One appreciates this
fact when he has read La Splendeur Catholique.
Paul Loewengard, the son of a wealthy Jewish merchant, was
born in Lyons in 1877. His father was of German origin, but was
a naturalized French citizen. His mother was a Bavarian. Both
his father and mother, like most of the educated Jews in France,
had given up the practice of the Jewish religion, and at the time
of their marriage the Synagogue refused to bless the bond. The
So6 A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT [July,
fatlier was an avowed free-thinker — ^an enemy of religion in every
form. " He loved France because it was France of the Revolution.
He was an ardent, sincere Republican, and on every occasion showed
his admiration for the principles of 1789 — for the patriots who had
freed France from the double yoke of throne and altar. In tlie
name of tolerance he applauded each new move against the Church ;
the expulsion of the congregations and the sacrileges of the Masonic
Republic." The mother was a woman of gentle disposition, who,
despite her religious indifference, had some vague notion of God.
When Paul was a child she used to join his hands, and teach him to
pray to Him Who " was almighty and very good." Thus into the
early life of the child there flowed some little stream of religious
sentiment. But as he grew up, the " seeds of negation were sowed
in his soul ; they took root and ripened under the triple influence of
his father's conversation, his college education, and modem litera-
ture."
By nature he was a dreamer, a boy who " lived- in the moon."
Extremely nervous and sensitive, he was a riddle to his family
and relations, all wrapped up in business and finance. Up to the
age of ten his education was in the care of a governess. Then he
entered college in his native city as a day student. He was a
precocious lad, given to his studies. When he was but eleven
years of age, he tells us that a "poet rapped violently on the
door of his soul." His teacher was dictating one of Musset's
poems, La Nuit de Decembre, and at the opening verse the boy
was almost overcome with an extraordinary emotion. " I felt
myself go pale. The rhythm gripped me. Certain images, certain
words, made me feel as if I would faint of weariness, of melancholy
and of joy. Some people will, no doubt, ask what a lad of eleven
years understood of such a poem. Perhaps I did not understand.
But I felt — intuition replaced intelligence and experience. From
that day until I was fifteen years old, Musset was my master, my
director, my most intimate friend."
Thus, at an age when most schoolboys have not as yet laid
aside the things of childhood, and prefer the playgroimd to the
study hall, young Loewengard was wandering through the gardens
of poetry, sipping honey from the poisoned flowers of one of the
most deadly of the French romantic poets. Reading became the
passion of the boy's life. By the time he was fifteen he had read
not only Musset, but Voltaire, Diderot, Rousseau, Hugo, Byron,
Baudelaire, Zola, Maupassant, Renan, Anatole France, and others
1915] A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT , 507
of less note. These writers destroyed in him "every natural
principle, religious, moral and social; shattered his belief in a
personal God, in the immortality of the soul, and in every moral
guide. At sixteen he was a disciple of the creed which proclaims :
" I believe in nothing. I love nothing. I have neither faith nor
hope. That which I have been instructed to respect does not exist.
There is a life which passes away, from which it is logical to demand
the most possible pleasure before death ends all." He threw aside
the vague prayers his mother had taught him to utter, and began
to demand of the world the consolations and joys of life.
He was a boasted skeptic when he began the study of philos-
ophy. The courses of philosophy, given in the French State
Colleges, are not of the kind which are calculated to ground young
men on solid foundations. On the contrary, they are a sea of
opinion upon which the young student is set adrift without compass
— a mixture of all modem systems, denying everything and leading
nowhere. Loewengard studied philosophy as enthusiastically as
he had literature, and traced the doctrines he had learned from his
favorite poets to their sources — Kant, Fichte, Hegel, Hartmann, and
Schopenhauer. He passed his baccalaureate examinations most
brilliantly (with a mark in philosophy of twenty out of a possible
twenty), and at nineteen, when his college course was finished, he
was a perfect specimen of the modem French educational system.
The concupiscence of the eyes, the concupiscence of the flesh, and
the pride of life were his virtues. Irreligious and godless schools
had taught him to glorify the things which, St. John tells us,
endanger the salvation of the soul. He was a youth, " now on the
brink of suicide, now on the brink of crime." He describes himself
as one whose "spirit was corrupted, not only by education, but
also by experience. The will had yielded the sceptre to the instincts,
and the aesthetic sense had replaced the moral sense. I was perverted,
demoralized by one idea which for the past decade has dominated
(French) education. An idea absolutely irreligious and conse-
quently immoral."
He had resolved to devote his life to literature, but his father
so violently opposed this plan that in order to gain time, and at the
same time satisfy his father, he registered as a law student at the
University of Lyons. About this time (1898) the celebrated
Dreyfus case fanned into flame a bitter ant i- Jewish movement
throughout the whole of France. A Jewish captain was accused
of betraying the army, and the whole nation rose against the Jews
So8 A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT [July,
as enemies of the Republic. " Down with the Jews," " Death to the
Jews," and similar cries were echoed and reechoed in city and town.
Civil war was in the air. Such papers as Libre Parole, France
Libre, and the Anti-Juif openly advocated a massacre of the Jews
as enemies to France and a danger to the State. Under this per-
secution, the nationalism of the Jews suddenly came to life. Free-
thinking Jews, liberal Jews, orthodox Jews became one for " Israel
and the Sjmagogue." Loewengard tells us that up to the Dreyfus
case the name of Israel meant nothing to him. " I was a free-
thinker, as were my father, my mother, and my sisters. I had
never assisted at the services of the Synagogue, knew nothing of it.
Now I felt myself a Jew. I wished to be a Jew The articles
of the anti-Jewish papers, calling for a massacre of my people,
inflamed the heroism of my soul and fired my pride. It was a
glorious thing now to be a Jew, to fight for the Jewish cause."
He began to attend services in the Synagogue at Lyons, and
became friendly with the rabbi. This was the first step along
the road which finally led him into the Catholic Church. For
the Synagogue, its doctrines and its ceremonial, aroused a religious
sentiment in his soul, but soon failed to satisfy it From the Bible
and from history he learned the three fundamental dogmas of the
Jewish religion: faith in a God distinct from His creatures; faith
in the election of the people of Israel, the chosen race, and faith in
a Messiah, foretold by Abraham, Jacob, David, and the prophets;
a Messiah Who would spring from the race of Abraham, from the
tribe of Juda and from the House of David, in Whom all nations
would be blessed, and the Jewish people above all. These were the
traditional dogmas which the
Synagogue to-day affirms in its prayers, its canticles, and its
psalms, but affirms them only with its lips, not with its heart.
My conversation with the rabbi, M. Alfred Levy (later Grand
Rabbi of France) — ^the books which he gave me to read, the
sermons which I heard him preach, all proved this to me — ^the
traditional Jewish dogmas were not the dogmas of the Jews
of to-day. They took from the Judaism of old its pride, its
temporal ambitions, its hatred and its malice. For the rest,
their liberalism easily accommodated itself to the interpretations
of the Bible radically opposed to the Talmud, to the spirit of
Moses, and to orthodox Judaism.
These were the conclusions which forced themselves upon young
Loewengard as he studied modem Judaism. He was disappointed.
I915] A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT 509
In the Synagogue he had looked for a religion which would disci-
pline the anarchy of his life, and give him a source of unity more
solid than his philosophic systems. He continued his investigations.
Was the rabbi a deist or a pantheist? I could never solve
this question but I am sure that he was a liberal. His
followers lauded his liberalism. And what is this liberalism?
The means to unite contraries, to reconcile opposites, rational-
ism and faith, affirmation and n^^tion, order and disorder,
Satan and God. Like liberal Protestantism, liberal Judaism is
hardly a religion. From religion it has taken certain ceremonies
certain attitudes, and certain words. But in its heart it is
nothing but concealed free-thought — ^masked rationalism — a
mixture which a logical and sincere soul cannot swallow. One
day I asked Rabbi Levy about the Messiah. For a moment he
appeared embarrassed, and then replied : " The Messiah is the
triumph of justice, the reign of liberty and fraternity. This
reign commenced with the French Revolution." I was shocked
by the assertion. I had heard such statements in the reunions
of the Ligue des droits de Vhomme, and in the conferences of
the notorious anarchist, Sebastian Faure. But later I learned
that this idea of the Messiah was the accepted one among the
leaders of Judaism in France. M. Auscher, rabbi of Besangon,
told me that : " The Messiah is the unlimited perfectibility of
humanity." M. S. Cahen, a well-known Jewish scholar, and the
translator of the Bible, writes : " The Messiah came to us on
the twenty-eighth of February, 1790, with the declaration of
the rights of man. The Messiah whcmi we await is the diflfusion
of these lights, the recognition of these rights, the emancipation
of humanity." And finally I found in the book of the rabbi,
M. Michel Weil, Le Judaisme, ses dogmes et sa mission, this
statement : " For us, after a study of our divine prophecies, we
have reached this conclusion: that the prophets of Israel only
understood by the Messiah the final triumph of doctrinal unity,
the reign of justice, of liberty, of concord, and of universal
harmony, and that they made no mention whatever of a de-
scendant of David, nor of a King Messiah, nor of a personal
Messiah." At the time I was making these investigations, my
mind was open to conviction but the Jewish soul which
was ccwning to life within me could not accept this tasteless
humanitarianism. Communion with these false Israelites was
impossible. I gave up my quest, and knew I was done forever
with the Synagogue.
His rupture with the Synagogue also brought about his rupture
Sio A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT [July,
with the Jewish party, who were ardently defending Dreyfus.
He had been one of the founders of a radical paper, La Germinal,
whose only excuse for existence was the propagation of the Dreyfus
affair, which had now become a symbol of an international socialistic
republic, according to the ideas of such anarchists as Jaures, Herve
and Faure. There was some little honor and love of country yet
smouldering in the soul of the young Jew, which caused him to
turn away in disgust from a party which was deliberately planning
the destruction of his country. He resigned from the staff of the
Germinal, and gave up his membership on the Ligue des droits
de I'homme, and threw himself on the side of the nationalists, who
were led by such patriots as Maurice Barres and Francois Coppee.
After this he was looked upon as a traitor to the Jewish cause. The
Aurora, a journal directed by the notorious Clemenceau, spoke of
him as " un Juif antisemite." His friends insulted him, and his
family relations were strained and delicate. His life was miserable,
almost unbearable.
But there was yet one way open to him. He was done with
religion and politics. He returned to poetry and to pleasure.
They would not disappoint him. He would drain the last drop of
pleasure out of life and then — well, there was an easy way out
of it. He plunged into the whirl of romantic and Bohemian life,
sped to the roads of " infernal voluptuousness, of crime and of
pride. For three years Satan had complete possession of my soul."
In 1905 he published his second volume of poems, the Pastes
de Babylone, which reflected the life he was leading. Blasphemous
and disgusting are the only words which can describe these poems.
Such monsters as Nero and Heliogabalus are the heroes of the poet,
and Christ is cursed. Babylon, Sodom and Gomorrah are en-
shrined in glory, and Venus Astarte crowned with roses. That
such a book received flattering notices, ^and was applauded in certain
French literary circles, goes to show the havoc the devils of sen-
suality have wrought in that once fair land.
In 1906 Loewengard married a young woman he had met in the
salons of Lyons which he frequented. Although she belonged to
a good Catholic family, and had received a Catholic education, she
had thrown over her Faith, and had fallen in with spiritualism.
She was clever, accomplished and pleasing to the sensual young
Jew's artistic temperament. The parents of the young lady, who
were pious, practical Catholics, wished to have the marriage blessed
by a priest after the civil ceremony had been performed. The
1915] A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT 511
young couple, although not the least interested in the benediction,
readily acquiesced in order to please the family. In the sacristry
of the church the prayers of benediction were read, and the ring
of the bride blessed. After the ceremony, Loewengard asked the
priest to bless his ring (as the custom in France is for both bride
and groom to put on a wedding ring), but this was refused owing
to the laws of the Church. Finally, the priest blessed the ring as a
medal is blessed, and " a wedding ring was the first object enriched
by a blessing of the Church which I ever wore." " God," he con-
tinues, " gave me a special grace when He permitted my marriage.
Without doubt, after the ceremony, for some time, both myself and
my wife continued to live as we had done before, but marriage is a
sacrament, and the virtue of this sacrament drew us towards the
Church in spite of ourselves,"
It was on Pentecost Sunday of that same year that the light
of grace broke into the darkened chambers of his heart, and began
to prepare it for the good seed. In one of the churches of Lyons,
the famous Canon Joseph Lemann, a converted Jew, preached a
sermon on " The Crucifix of Pardon." With his wife, Loewengard
went to the church, perhaps out of a spirit of curiosity, to hear a
fellow Israelite, now a Catholic priest, preach the word of God.
He writes of this occasion as follows : " An old man slowly mounted
into the pulpit, where he knelt for a moment in fervent prayer. I
watched him attentively this son of Israel, my brother in
blood, this descendant of the deicides imploring — with what faith
and love his attitude sufficiently indicated — Christ Whom his
ancestors crucified After the sermon I was overwhelmed,
conquered, by his eloquence, which burned into my heart like a
flame How wonderful are the ways of Providence ! To draw
me to Him, God chose a child of my own people to show me the
way."
After the sermon the young Jew pushed his way through the
crowd into the sacristy. He felt he must speak to this man without
letting a day pass by. Despite other engagements, which demanded
his immediate attention. Father Lemann granted Loewengard a
few minutes, and then made an appointment for him to come back
in three days. This second meeting with the priest was the first
definite step which finally led him into the Church. He had yet
a long way to go, and many things to suffer, but he was en route.
His reading was directed by Father Lemann, and he began to study
the Church, her history and her dogmas.
512 A NOTABLE FRENCH CONVERT [July,
Occupied with his new studies, into which he carried his
wonted fiery enthusiasm, his health, seriously undermined by his
life of dissipation, suddenly collapsed, and he was forced to leave
Lyons for a milder climate along the Mediterranean Sea. He was
here but a short time, when his wife was also stricken by a serious
illness. ** The anger of God seemed truly to be upon us. This we
realized, and together we repented our sins and prayed fervently."
After her recovery, Madame Loewengard, whose eyes had been
opened to the horror of her past life, returned to the Faith of her
youth, from which she had so long been a wanderer. But for the
poor stricken poet there seemed to be no relief. His health did not
improve. Month after month passed by, and he was incapable of
the least mental effort. A last terrible trial was irt store for him.
By his suffering he was to atone for many of the sins of his past
life. His family fortunes were entirely wiped out by the failure
of the great commercial house directed by his father. Broken in
health, and now completely stripped of his earthly possessions, he
bowed his head, and accepted all without a murmur. The pride
of life had gone out of his heart. Humble and contrite, God did
not despise him. The Hand of Love which had chastised now
caressed. His health slowly began to improve, and, above all, his
soul was purified. On the Feast of the Immaculate Conception,
December 8, 1898, after months of careful preparation and ardent
desire, he received the Sacraments of Baptism and of Holy Com-
munion. Since that day, which was the happiest day of his life,
he has been a faithful and devout child of the Church, and has
dedicated his talents to her service.
Loewengard's latest book, Les Magnificences de VEglise, in-
spired by the encyclical Acerbo, of our late Holy Father Pius X.,
is a beautiful exposition of the liturgy and dogmas of the Church,
conceived upon magnificent lines and charmingly written. It is a
poet's appreciation of the beauty and the glory of the Church of
Christ, and strengthens our confidence in the future work of the
ardent young convert, whose life story furnishes us with one more
proof of the truth of the old adage, " to be a good Frenchman one
must be a good Catholic." For surely no one will hesitate in
deciding which man reflects greater credit on his country — the
sensual depraved young Jew who wrote Les Pastes de Babylone, or
the clean, straightforward, and patriotic young Catholic who wrote
La Splendenr Catholiqtie,
THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS.
BY R. F. O CONNOR.
T has been often said that history repeats itself. It
is repeating itself in Ireland. The same apprehen-
sion of invasion which called into existence the Irish
Volunteers in the eighteenth century, when the nation
rushed to arms to repel the invader, has impelled
the Irish of this generation to emulate the patriotic example of
their forefathers, and form a citizen army to safeguard the country
from foreign intrusion. Both movements have been spontaneous;
only the present is more democratic than that which contributed so
much to " the pride of '82." The first originated with a dominant
and exclusive caste ; the latter has sprung from the people ; is higher
in its aims, broader in its spirit, and more distinctly popular. It is
symptomatic of the new spirit which has been breathed into the
nation, and which has cast out the old one. The great and wide-
spread changes which marked the progress of the national move-
ment during the nineteenth century, have culminated in the evolution
of a New Ireland. New generations have been born and grown
to manhood and womanhood, who have never felt the depressing
influence of the religious disabilities and the economic disadvantages
under which their sires lived and died. As they ascended higher
and higher in the social and political scale, they have cast aside the
thoughts and habits of the downtrodden, and have become familiar-
ized with those of a free and emancipated people.
The year 1778 was red-lettered in the Irish calendar. It was
signalized by two memorable events: the first definite step taken
towards the gradual repeal of the penal laws, and the creation of the
Irish Volunteers. The iniquitous penal code had long reduced
Irish Catholics to the condition of serfdom. Their religion was
not only proscribed, but its professors were penalized and socially
ostracized. Protestants, though in the minority, were in the ascend-
ant, and looked down upon them as a servile and subject race.
Sir Edward Carson, the Orange leader, who worthily represents
the traditions and spirit of his party, boasted that his followers
still regard Irish Catholics in the same light; that they are a race
whom " they hate and despise." Every attempt to raise them was
VOL. CI.— -33
514 THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS [July,
resisted. " The penal laws," says Lecky/ " made the Protestant
landlord in a Catholic district little less than a despot. In almost
every walk of life, when a Protestant and a Catholic were in compe-
tition, the former found the ascendancy of his religion an advan-
tage. The most worthless Protestant, if he had nothing else to
boast of, at least found it pleasant to think that he was a member
of a dominant caste." The same condition of things more or less
prevails at the present day in northeast Ireland, where Protestants
predominate, and will continue to do so as long as the Protestant
democracy take their orders from the Orange Lodges, bossed by
the remnant of the aristocratic ascendancy clique, who use them
for their own selfish interests.
It has only been by a long and arduous struggle that Irish
Catholics have acquired civil and religious liberty. The first or-
ganized effort was made in 1759, when Curry, O'Connor, and Wyse
founded the Catholic Committee. Though shut out from the
university, the magistracy, the legal profession in all its grades,
from all forms of administration and political ambition, they made
the most of industrial careers, the only resource open to them.
A considerable body of wealthy Catholic merchants arose in con-
sequence, especially in Cork, Limerick, and Waterf ord ; the nucleus
of the much larger and more influential middle class who became
a power to be counted with at every political crisis in the succeeding
century.
The movement, timid and tentative, until the advent of the
great Catholic tribune, O'Connell, was aided by pressure from with-
out. England's difficulty was Catholic Ireland's opportunity.
England then, as now, had a big continental war on her hands,
and wanted to strengthen her forces. The call for recruits was
what first broke down the spirit of exclusion which had treated
Catholics as helots. As the demand for more soldiers to go to the
front became daily more and more urgent, the military authorities
conveniently remembered that the Catholic districts of Ireland had
supplied the armies of France, Spain, Austria-Hungary, Naples, and
Piedmont with thousands of brave Irishmen, who won distinction
on almost every battlefield on the Continent. " Catholics," says
the eminent Protestant historian quoted, "were silently admitted
into the British army, of which they have ever since formed a large
and distinguished part."^ When the American Colonists rose in
revolt against the imposition of taxes, which Edmund Burke said
^England in the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii. *0p, cit., vol. ii.
1915.1 THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS 515
" shook the pillars of a commercial empire that circled the globe,"
and the War of Independence began, Catholics were readily ac-
cepted and enlisted in large numbers.
Following this, or cooperating concurrently, was the movement
for the removal of commercial restrictions, the establishment of
free trade with England and the Colonies, and the recognition of
the legislative independence of the Irjsh Parliament. " The penal
laws," says McNevin,' "were intended to destroy a creed; the
commercial restrictions aimed at a much wider object — to ruin a
people." In the reign of Charles I., Wentworth crippled the Irish
woolen manufactures, considering that they interfered with those
of England. William III., who deliberately destroyed them, gave
a deadly blow to the prosperity of Ireland ; the bill to prevent their
exportation or importation being passed by the English Commons
in 1697. The embargo on the export of provisions, imposed by a
proclamation of the Privy Council, increased the misery and distress
of the people, and deprived Ireland of a lucrative trade, which passed
into the hands of English speculators or enterprising Germans.
" Whoever," said Swift, " travels this country and observes the
face of nature, or the faces, habits, and dwellings of the natives,
will hardly think himself in a land where law, religion or common
humanity is professed." At last the wretched condition of the
finances, the corrupt disposal of patronage, and the refusal of the
English Parliament to grant that commercial liberty which was
essential to Irish prosperity, and, above all, the example of America,
strengthened the hands of the Patriot Party, and drove into their
minds the principles inculcated by Swift and Molyneux. As Flood
said, the voice from America had shouted to liberty. " The Amer-
ican Revolution," writes McNevin, " was the giant birth of a new
world of liberty." It^ development and progress were watched by
the Irish people with great anxiety; for they saw the triumph of
their own principles in the success of American arms, and the estab-
lishment of a free popular government on the other side of the
Atlantic. They were, to a large extent, guided and influenced by it ;
the case of Ireland and the case of the American Colonies being
analogous.
A change then came over the Protestant portion of the popula-
tion. The conviction dawned upon many of them that national
aspirations could only be realized by conciliating the Catholics.
Grattan was convinced that Irish Protestants could never achieve
* History of the Volunteers.
5i6 THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS tJuly»
their legislative freedom until the Irish Catholic had ceased to be
a slave. The great measure by which the Catholic Church was
established in Canada had given the lead. But bigotry dies hard,*
as events in the northeastern comer of Ireland have lately shown;
and many years were to elapse, and the country was to endure
much at its hands, before anything like emancipation was attained.
When war broke out, Ireland was left almost defenceless;
without a sufficient garrison to insure tranquillity at home or to
repel a foreign invasion. When a French invasion of Belfast
was imminent, and the Mayor asked for troops for its protection,
he was told that only half a troop of dismounted horsemen and half
a company of invalids could be spared to defend the chief city of
Ulster, the commercial capital of Ireland. Then the people did
what government failed to do. " The entire kingdom," records
Sir Jonah Barrington, " took up arms, regiments were formed in
every quarter, the highest, the lowest, and the middle orders, all
entered the ranks of freedom; and every corporation, whether civil
or military, pledged life and fortune to attain and establish Irish
independence." He goes on to relate how the resolutions he drew
up for the Volunteer regiments were unanimously adopted by all
parties, " every man swearing, as he kissed the blade of his sword,
that he would adhere to these resolutions to the last drop of his
blood, which he would by no means spare, till we had finally
achieved the independence of our country."** Lecky repeats the
same stirring story. " The people," he says, " at once flew to
arms. The sudden enthusiasm, such as occurs two or three times
in the history of a nation, seems to have passed through all classes.
All along the coast associations for self-defence were formed under
the protection of the leading gentry. The chief persons in Ireland
nearly everywhere placed themselves at the head of the movement.
The Duke of Leinster commanded the Dublin Corpse Lord Alta-
mont that of the County Mayo; Lord Charlemont that of the
County Armagh, and in most counties the principal landlords
appeared at the head of bodies of their tenants." Though at first
the bigoted spirit of exclusion blocked the way for Catholics
joining the ranks, they subscribed largely towards the expenses of
equipping this citizen army; those of the County Limerick alone
at once raised eight hundred pounds. They did not pause to think
*On May 4, 1795. Grattan moved his Catholic Relief Bill in the Irish House of
Commons, but it was rejected by 155 to 84.
* Personal Sketches and Recollections,
1915.I THE IRI$H VOLUNTEERS 517
of themselves or of their interests as a class, the i^iost numerous in
the community, when the interests of their country were at stake.
"There was one great section of the people," comments
McNevin, " who, at this time of peril from foreign foe and the
weakness of the government, might have been well excused if
they had stood aloof in cold indifference or moody anger. What
had the Catholics to hope from any change? What to them was
change of dynasty or change of system? In every benefit, in every
grace, they stood excepted. They had felt the iron of oppression
in their souls, they had suffered for their loyalty as well as for
their treasons. Deprived of property and plunged in darkest ignor-
ance, despoiled of rank and power and privilege and land, little was
left for that unhappy people in their own country but the pursuits
of paltriest trade or meanest usury."* They did not stand aloof,
but were anxious to join the ranks of the Volunteers which, from
the six companies formed in Belfast, rose to thirty thousand in the
first year of their organization, and later reached the figure of one
hundred thousand. The Earl of Tyrone wrote to one of the Beres-
fords that the Catholics in their zeal were full of forming themselves
into independent companies, and had actually begun their organiza-
tion, but that, seeing the variety of consequences which would
attend such an event, he had found it his duty to stop their move-
ment.
In 1 784 the Liberty Corps of the Volunteers — so called because
it was recruited in the Earl of Meath's liberties, where the Dublin
woolen manufacturers chiefly dwelt — advertised for recruits, and
enrolled about two hundred Catholics. This htmg contrary to the
wishes of Lord Charlemont, Commander-in-Chief, and of the law
forbidding Catholics to carry arms without a license, the other
corps marked their disapprobation by refusing to join the Liberty
Corps at their exercises. But as neither the government nor the
leaders went so far as to disarm these recruits. Catholic enlistment
went on. This was one of many indications that the rank and file,
in other words the democracy, were more liberal and broad-minded
than the aristocratic leaders. Lucas and Flood and Charlemont
wanted legislative independence and liberty for themselves, and
used the Volunteers as a leverage to wrest it from an unwilling
government, but would not permit the Catholic majority to share it.
Their idea was to create popular but, at the same time, purely
Protestant institutions. Beyond that Flood refused to go. It is
•Op. ciu
5i8 THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS [July,
assumed to have been partly in order to divert the Volunteers
from taking up the Catholic question that he pushed on so strenu-
ously that of Parliamentary reform. A democracy, in the old
Athenian not in the modern sense of the term, a democracy planted
in an aristocracy, popular institutions growing out of an independent
and ascendant class, formed their ideal. To place political power
in the hands of the vast ignorant and turbulent Catholic peasantry
would, they maintained, be an act of madness which would imperil
every institution in the country; ignoring the damning fact that
it was laws of their own piaking which had made them so, having
debarred them from education or anything that would raise them
above the debased condition to which of set purpose they had
reduced them. Charlemont in 1791 predicted that a full century
would elapse before the mass of Irish Catholics could be safely
entrusted with political power; and he went so far as to express an
ex post facto approval of the penal laws.
" Every immunity, every privilege of citizenship," Charlemont
wrote in 1783, "should be given to the Catholics excepting arms
and legislation, either of which being granted them would, I con-
ceive, shortly render Ireland a Catholic country" Here is the
key to the situation both past and present. The same ideas working
in the minds of Lucas, Flood, and Charlemont and others in the
eighteenth century influence the thoughts and the policy of Sir
Edward Carson and his covenanters in Ulster, who want to use
the Protestant volunteers of the North as a force to wreck Home
Rule, and prevent Ireland becoming a self-governing Catholic
country. But the public opinion not only of Ireland but of Great
Britain and its Colonial dependencies, flourishing as autonomous
states, is against them. That widening of men's thoughts with the
process of the suns which has expanded into the great democratic
movement that is shaping the policy of Great Britain at home and
abroad, is adverse to the adoption of such retrogressive ideas as
Carson's. John Redmond, the Irish leader, with the instinct of a
true statesman, has wisely identified the cause of a regenerated
Ireland with this movement, which nothing can resist or repress,
least of all Carson's faction whose tactics are an absurd anachronism.
Unionism of a diflferent kind than what he contemplates is the
objective. Already there is more than a stirring of dry bones
even in the Orange north, where Volunteers of both creeds frater-
nize; and this fraternization has been further promoted by the
great European war, in which Orangemen and Catholics are found
1915] THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS 519
cooperating in a common cause, comrades in arms fighting under
the same flag and in the same ranks. When the war is over it is
unthinkable that they would use the arms they wielded in a common
defence against each other in an internecine conflict. Blood, it is
said, is thicker than water, and the same Irish blood courses through
the veins of all the combatants who own Ireland as their fatherland.
The German Emperor and his late Ambassador at the Court
of St. James' have been completely misled by Sir Edward Carson's
phantom of impending civil war in the North of Ireland, Sir Roger
Casement's misrepresentations of the Sin Fein movement and Pro-
fessor Kuno Meyer's academic vauntings. It takes two to make a
quarrel; and if Carson and other wirepullers of his type will only
stand aside, the Protestant and Catholic democracies, having no sub-
stantial cause of disagreement, will shake hands across the Boyne in
a cordial union of North and South, and the daydream of Gavan
Duffy will become a waking reality. Carson and Casement and Kuno
Meyer forget, or affect to ignore, that the Ireland of to-day is very
different from the Ireland of the eighteenth century, or even the
Ireland anterior to 1867. The remedial legislation inaugurated
by Gladstone's Upas tree campaign in 1868, followed by Isaac
Butt's Home Rule Party; Parnell's more active and aggressive
policy of obstructing legislation in the English Parliament until
he compelled attention to the Irish question; the land war which
went to the very root of that question ; the assault on landlordism
or, as Davitt phrased it, feudalism ; land purchase which is re-trans-
ferring the land to the people, gradually making the farmers the
owners of the soil they till; and the County Council's Act, which
took fiscal power out of the hands of the territorial aristocracy,
and distributed it among the elected representatives of the people —
all these movements have eventuated in the creation of an entirely
n^w order of things in Ireland. The country now awaits their
culmination in the restoration of that autonomy of which, in 1800,
it was illegally and unconstitutionally deprived by the purchased
votes of a corrupt assembly that only represented the ascendancy
caste, and which registered a foregone conclusion like a packed jury.
The new Irish Volunteers have arisen at a critical epoch,
resolutely banded together for two objects : home defence and the
preservation of the right to enact laws for all Ireland and in an Irish
Parliament; able and ready to resist any attempt, open or covert,
to filch from them again this inalienable, constitutional privilege.
Of the latter contingency there seems to be no likelihood. The
520 THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS [July,
new Parliament, unlike the old, will not be the legislature of a
dominant section, but representative of the whole people; and, as
the vast majority are Catholics and Nationalists, it will inevitably
and legitimately be both Catholic and Nationalist. It was easy
enough for Pitt and Camden in the bad old times when political
corruption was the order of the day, and seats were shamelessly sold
openly and above board as one would sell stock on the Stock
Exchange in London, the Paris Bourse or Wair Street, New York,
to bribe the men who sat upon the benches of the Irish Parliament
at the close of the eighteenth century — imported English placemen
or the aristocratic Whig " undertakers " who engaged to provide
a mechanical majority " to do the King's business," in other words,
to pass bills promoted by the CastleJ It would be impossible to
bribe a whole nation, as the " undertakers " and promoters of the
Union well knew if parliamentary reform followed legislative
freedom, won by the Volunteers despite the opposition of the Castle.
Buckingham, the Viceroy, who viewed the armed movement
with dismay and distrust, wished, but did not attempt, to suppress
it; and when overtures were made to bring it under the direct
control of the government, they were rejected by the leaders of
the Volunteers. It was the just boast of the Irish patriots that at
no period of Irish history was internal tranquillity so fully preserved,
or the law so strictly obeyed, as between the rise of the Volunteers
and the close of the American war. If, after achieving their con-
stitutional victory, they had interposed no obstacle to Catholics
being permitted to enter Parliament, history would have been very
differently written: there would have been no '98, no 1803, no '48,
no '67, none of those sporadic insurrections, none of those heated
agitations which have diverted the mind of Ireland from the calm,
reasoned discussion of measures for the betterment of the condi-
tion of the people at large, the development of the industrial re-
sources of their country, and other things tending to the common
weal. For the first time in history Ireland will soon have its hands,
its intelligence, and its energies freed for tlie great work of nation
*In 1784 there were not more than 50 independent members; on the most
important divisions not more than 30 votes could be whipped up in opposition to the
government; 116 seats were divided between 25 proprietors, Lord Shannon returning
16, the Ponsonby family 14, Lord Hillsborough 9, the Duke of Leinster 7, and the
Castle 12. Eighty-six seats were 'Met out'' by the owners in consideration of
what were called "gratifications/* a monopoly of titles, offices, and pensions. No
less than 44 seats were occupied by placemen, 32 by gentlemen who had promises
of pensions, 12 by men who stood out for higher prices from the government. The
regular Opposition appears to have been limited to 82 votes, of which 30 belonged to
Whig nominees, and the rest to the popular party.
1915] SVNBROWNED WITH TOIL 521
building. Then, indeed, we shall have a real Hibernia Pacata, not
as Elizabethan chroniclers imagined it when they made a wilderness
and proclaimed it peace, but an Ireland to which genuine justice
shall have at length been done, an Ireland self-governing and self-
centred in the full and free enjoyment of a constitution of its own;
an Irish executive responsible to an Irish Parliament, and that
Parliament, legislating in the broad light of publicity, responsible
to an Irish electorate; a home government instead of an irrespon-
sible Castle bureaucracy; an Ireland, not like the inverted sugar
loaf to which Swift compared the Ireland of his day, resting upon
its smaller end, but " broad-based upon a people's will."
SUNBROWNED WITH TOIL.
BY EDWARD F. GARESCHE, S.J.
SuNBROWNED and worn with toil, he leaned awhile
On his bright spade, and looked into the West.
His eyes were soft with thought. St. Francis came,
Noiseless, and stood beside, then gently said :
" Brother, what seest thou? " Deep he drew breath
Of long contentment. " When yon evening light
Touches my cottage roof-tree — lo, see there
How flames the thatch beneath the glowing rays —
I love to look across the reddened world
And thank my God, Who keeps me ; love to muse
How through the circling hours and changing years.
As days tread slow on days. He works for me.
I see yon shaggy hillside, grown with vines;
His own all-sedulous Hand doth mold each bud
And twine each tendril round its destined stay.
522 SVNBROWNED WITH TOIL [July,
How soft the pastures roll ! He greens them o'er
With countless grass-tips, each His utter care.
As are the swinging stars. The chestnuts spread
Wide-armed and dark — ^He builds their buttressed limbs
Against the storm, and when they groan and sway
They call to Him for succor. And the birds !
How far and free they ride the weightless air.
And fall and soar and circle — ^ah, they feel
In swiftest onrush of their dizzy flight
His Hand beneath them. And yon waving wheat
That ripples all its shining blades with joy
Beneath the summer's winds — He bids it grow.
It, and the clustered vines, to furnish forth
His Holy Table! So mine evening thoughts
Run on and on, thus mingled ; all the world
Speaking of God, my Lord, and when the West
Flames like a chalice, and its flooding rays
Frame the fair sun, poised ere he veils his light,
Methinks the whole vast world is figured there.
God is its Sun 1 and it but gleams to show
In myriad forms, the One Eternal Fair
That bade it be." He paused, and could no more.
Then Francis prayed, his eyes besieging heaven.
" O God, My Father, I do give Thee praise.
That Thou hast spoken to these simple hearts,
What pride and troubled learning faint to know.
They search the spheres for light: this man of toil.
Sees Thee, O Light, in all Thy common world !
And where Thy love hath placed him, finds his peace."
WHITE EAGLE.
BY L. P. DECONDUN.
V.
Thursday, April, 1913.
|0 you know, my dearest, that since your mother came
to C I have only been able to send you a
hurried scrawl, but I mean to make up for it to-day.
Besides, my life is too incomplete when I do not live
it with you.
It was rather cold when Mrs. Camberwell arrived
on the Saturday evening. I had sent two days before for the motor
(I know how she hates the trap), and I was glad of it, as it brought
her here very quickly. She looked tired; there were big shadows
under her eyes, though it made them, if anything, more brilliant than
ever. She seemed in fairly good spirits through dinner, spoke will-
ingly on any subject, but ate very little. When afterwards we sat in
the drawing-room, I noticed that she left her coffee untouched, and
I drew my conclusions: she does not sleep, but, needless to say, I
made no remark.
I wonder if I could describe to you the atmosphere surrounding
us that evening. Your mother was in one of those undefinable moods
which draws sympathy from others, and yet gives her no wish to
avail herself of it. She was listening to the steadiest flow of small
talk which I could produce, and this without any impatience; on the
contrary, if it showed signs of slackening, she would help it on with
a few questions. But, if I could say so, her inner self was locked and
bolted and barred hermetically behind her acquiescent appearance;
this made me fear before very long that something was troubling her ;
but what? She is not the woman from whom one could ask infor-
mation in such a case; not only would she resent it, but she would
make one very well aware of that In spite of it though, I felt so
sorry for her, and so much in sympathy with something in her, that
I wished she would have confided in me. Really the charm of her
personality is very strong. When she is absent, everybody can dis-
cuss her, judge her and even blame her; when she is present and
looks at you from those strange depths in her eyes, you feel that who-
ever is wrong it cannot altogether be she. I do not know if she was
aware of what was passing through my mind while we were chatting,
but she gradually softened, and when at last she stood up to say good-
night, her white hand rested on my arm before she kissed me. Of
course it meant nothing; yet — how can I express it? I felt with
ahnost a certainty that something which I could not analyze was
524 WHITE EAGLE [July,
bringing us closer than we had been before. But what was it?
I went up with her to see if everything was comfortable in her
room, and I fancy that I lingered a little. But if she noticed it, she
made no sign ; and I went away with a slight sense of disappointment.
What strange beings we women seem to be!
The next morning was Sunday, and the car came round in good
time to take us to church. We arrived too early as usual, and as
usual we went up to our places in the gallery. The morning was a
burst of spring weather. Through a painted window the sun shot
deep-colored rainbows on to the bare whitewashed walls. Even the
altar cloth seemed embroidered with patches of emeralds, amethysts,
and sapphires. Some daffodils above it bent their golden heads — dainty
fragrant cups of joy — while a few star-like narcissi shone as the
flowers of another world. Then the little acolytes bustled about in
short cassocks and surplices, showing a sad length of coarse gray
trousers and heavy thick shoes; but they had serious, respectful,
honest, round faces. As they went up and down the altar steps, passing
and genuflecting with boyish rapidity before the Tabernacle, eager to
light up the tall candles and to set everything ready, I fancied I could
realize the look of love following them about. Was He not there
Who had said long ago: " Suffer the little children to come to Me?"
I do not know if your mother saw anything of this. From the
instant we came in, she had knelt down, her eyes flxed on the small
gilt door, and had scarcely moved at all. She knelt so long that I
bent towards her : " You must sit now, mother," I said ; " here you
are under my care."
She looked up at me, one fraction of a second, and smiled.
(Such a smile, Reginald, anywhere else I could have hugged her!)
Then she obeyed as meekly as a child, and sat until Mass began. But
almost all through it, her eyes remained fastened on the Tabernacle,
and before we left the church I knew that I had guessed rightly the
night before, that something had happened or was happening in con-
nection with her. Her self-control, her concentration, meant a won-
derful gathering of forces — for or against what? Was God at work
on that strong will of hers ?
I began to conclude in all humility that I should have been a poor
sort of confident if, on the preceding pight, she had opened her heart
to me; and from my original desire to comfort her I fell into the
other extreme. My fear became now, that she might wish to con-
fide in me. (Oh, dear! what a broken reed I am!) I am ashamed
to say so, but I was thankful when, on leaving the church, your
mother proposed to take with us two old women who live at the top
of the road. The poor things were rather nervous at the idea of
getting into the motor, but she spoke to them so kindly that they soon
felt reassured. j
1915.I WHITE EAGLE 525
At lunch she did not talk very much, though- she behaved quite
naturally, and in the afternoon she decided to rest on the sofa. (I
was, then, writing to you.) I insisted on throwing a light rug over
her, and she lay down perfectly motionless, with her eyes closed. Of
course she had no intention of sleeping, she wanted to think ; and it
ought to have been evident to me that, so far, what she craved for
was silence, not sympathy; only I am so dense sometimes. In fact,
neither that day, nor the next, nor during the days following, did she
make allusion to anything.
On Monday and Wednesday she had letters from Max and one
from Joan. I fancy that she hesitated an instant, on both occasions,
before opening them; but that may have been an idea of mine. At
any rate she read them with a thoroughly calm face. On Thursday
another letter came, and this time I noticed a frown when she began
to read, but it vanished at once.
Every day we spent a few minutes inspecting the mason's work ;
sometimes we went for a drive or we wrote and read. After lunch
she rested a little, perhaps strolled to the garden or to the shore ; and
after tea, if it was fine, we went out together to visit the old cottage
people whom she knew. You see that under these conditions a
tete-i-tite could only find place after dinner ; which soon made me con-
clude that I had nothing to fear, even then.
Then, without the least warning, it came about. It was just two
days before our intended return to town. The dressing bell may have
rung a little earlier that evening, however when I came down, I found
Mrs. Camberwell ready, standing before the fire. As I came near, I
could not help admiring her splendid figure, straight as a dart, her
proud neck, her smooth skin where wrinkles dared not show ; and, as
usual, the spare folds of her very simple evening gown fell with
cunning art. But what I saw as well was the tense brightness of her
eyes. The light in them flashed occasionally from an uncomfortable
depth, and her smile, when I came in, was merely on her lips. This
particular mood of your mother's awes me; so I tried not to notice
it, and all the while I longed for the dinner gong.
It came at last; but dinner was an ordeal. I felt awkward,
nervous, self-conscious. It was so trying. And of course she was
aware of it. Once or twice during our somewhat mild conversation,
she threw me a half-curious, half-ironic glance. There was a note of
resentment too in her voice; but it was veiled by a condescension
which made it worse. Yet I could trace all this to nothing; either
it had been slowly gathering, or some unlucky letter had come by the
afternoon post and turned the tide.
The climax came when we sat, as on every other evening, each
side of the drawing-room fire. I could not tell you what in the whole
wide world made me mention Scotland; a vague thought of the
526 WHITE EAGLE [July,
Hermitage's discomfort perhaps; but the minute it was said I saw
that I had done the deed : the train of powder was ignited. She was
slowly turning the pages of The Month. For a quarter of a second
her hand stopped, but then it went (m; and her face hardened.
"Oh," she said, with apparent carelessness, "you were thinking of
Mrs. Marchmont."
" No, indeed," I answered. " At least not directly. What struck
me was that we are rather cosy in this little house, while hers — "
"That's it."
" But I was not occupied with her personally."
" Sub-consciously, you were."
"Oh, mother!" I protested smiling.
She glanced at me without raising her head, then back again at
the review. " Millicent Marchmont must be developing magnetism
to a considerable degree," she said with derision ; " everybody seems
bound to think or speak of her."
I did not answer, I dared not, I waited.
" Max's last letter was full of her; and even Joan's; Joan's — of
all people I "
The leaves of the magazine were turning evenly.
" She has not left Scotland; has she? " I asked.
Another leaf rustled. " Not that I know of." (A pause.) " But
that is scarcely necessary to her. Why? " (And the keen eyes looked
at me while a smile played on the sharply cut lips.) ''Did not
Millicent mention before you that she could, at will, project her astral
body to any distance? "
" Oh I " said I, laughing, "she boasts of that readily enough ; but
it requires a good deal more faith than I have to take her seriously."
" Yet you, and all of you, follow her lead."
(The first arrow had been shot.)
" I don't quite understand," I remarked ; " I, for one, do not
recollect following her lead in anything."
"No?" Her eyebrows went up slowly.
I again realized that, for me, silence was golden. She went on.
" It is quite true, of course, that she occasionally hits the right nail
on the head. Only — "
"Yes?"
"It does not happen to be the nail that she had intended to
strike."
" I am afraid, mother," I replied looking straight at her, " I am
afraid that I am completely at sea."
" And you do not wish to remain there? "
" Thank you," said I, trying to laugh, " it is a little too chilly."
"Is it?"
(A pause).
1915.I WHITE EAGLE 527
" You prefer jouer Cartes sur table."
" If you do not object."
"I?"
(Ranald, dear, I felt so small; I did not see the tiniest loop-
hole of escape; still I kept as undisturbed a face as I could.) She
pursued, after another silence.
" On the whole it's very simple. Millicent Marchmont had made
up her mind to force my hand about Max's marriage, and if you did
not all help (with slight emphasis) at least none of you opposed her.
Am I mistaken? "
" You may be mistaken in some of the particulars," I began.
But she waved my argument away. " That is a mere detail," she
interrupted. ^ The facts are these : Millicent imagined that I would
dread, as a powerful rival in Max's affections, a very attractive
foreign girl, because (she smiled ironically) I am about 'as selfish
a woman' and 'jealous a mother' as would 'grace the Continent.' Are
these not her words? "
"Mother, dear," I said firmly, "those are not Millicent's words
at all (I knew the author of them too well), and I had never set
eyes on Miss Lowinska before the night you met her yourself. I knew
absolutely nothing about her."
" Be it so. Nevertheless, Max did."
" I was ignorant of it until that very evening."
" Ah ! and would it be indiscreet to ask the name of your inform-
ant, then?"
(Reginald, I hesitated; I feared I was losing ground, but the
clear steady eyes compelled me to be frank.)
" It was Joan," I answered as naturally as I could.
Then your mother leaned back on the sofa and nodded with cold
contempt.
" Quite so," she said. " Now we have come to the point. Did
you see Joan alone that evening?"
" I did."
" And you found out that the child had taken Millicent's bogey
in earnest, and was ready to break her heart? "
" She was unhappy, yes."
" I daresay she would not hide much from you." Well, my dear,
if you care to know, this is " the nail " which went home with me.
As you perceive, it was not the one Millicent had tried to hit. She
looked at the fire for a second or two; then her face softened and
she smiled with a certain pride. "People of my nature," she re-
marked, " don't yield to suggestions or threatening shadows. I have
never heard of anyone of my blood becoming sheep-hearted. Per-
haps we are too hard ; still — "
I don't know what made me do it but I abruptly slipped on my
528 tVHITE EAGLE [July,
knees and sat on a cushion at her feet. " Mother," I said, carried by
a sudden impulse, " it's all nonsense your pretending to be 'hard/
We all love you in spite of it; but if you would only let us under-
stand you better, we should never need to worry or interfere. Will
you forgive us ? "
She looked at me, absently at first; then curiously and search-
ingly. I had taken her jewelled hands in mine, and quite simply
pressed my lips on them.
"Don't!" she said sharply.
" Why not? " I asked. " Are you not my mother also? "
But her face had darkened again. " My dear child," she began,
trying to reassume her bitter, cutting tone, "pray don't let your
imagination run away with you. Millicent Marchmoni, bair-brained
as she is, is far nearer the truth concerning me than you are your-
self. She has made no mistake: I am a 'selfish woman' and I am a
'jealous mother,' and when I quoted her words before, I had no wish
to deny them."
" Oh, mother ! " said I taken aback, " please don't speak like this !
I know that we all discussed you and blamed you."
" Oh! You too. Nemo? I read the letter aright then? "
"What letter? " I inquired truly surprised. (Could Max have
so hopelessly blundered in his confidences?) "Oh! a letter (she
shrugged her shoulders) from the sort of venomous 'acquaintances'
which the world calls 'friends.' It made me feel bitterly indignant,
chiefly against them I must say, and yet (a ring of sadness broke in
her voice) it seems that they were right.''
" Mother, dearest ! " I answered miserably, "don't say it like
that ! It makes me feel as mean as Brutus."
(Her eyes had again softened under her lowered lids.)
"But it is true? " she persisted.
" It is," I said ; " still, all the time, we could not help loving you,
and that is true also."
She looked away for an instant, then she smiled a little. " Did
you ever hear how Reginald translated the Et tu Brute in his early
schooldays ? "
" Never."
" It was to the point: 'Art thou a brute?' "
" Well ! " said I, unable to repress a smile in my turn, " it must
have been translated for me. I do feel a 'brute' just now. But, why
did you try to-night to paint yourself in such black colors ? "
(Her smile died away.)
" Because they are the real ones. Do you not know that at
times everyone of us longs to tear down the veil and show one's very
self?" (Though I don't think one ever does it quite.) "Besides,
you all were right — you, yourself, are unwillingly convinced of it, and
1915] WHITE EAGLE 529
it would avail me nothing to deny facts. Max does hold the largest
place in my life: this is true. I have kept him tied by many invisible
threads which would never have held Ranald; this also is true.
And when I discouraged repeatedly his affection for Joan, it was not
because I believed that he would be happier with anyone else — that
was a commonplace excuse — but Joan or anyone else meant a break
in our intimate life. That was the point."
" But would it be a break?" I asked. " If you consent to give
Joan the smallest chance, she will love you so dearly."
" I know that," she answered, " but do I wish it? "
" You do not want Joan to care for you ? "
" I am not sure."
" Still, the evening at the Marchmont's I saw you speaking with
her as if — "
" I know ; but I told yon that Millicent had forced my hand.
This is not clear to you ? Well ! my dear, it comes to this. I have
tried what many have attempted before, and as unsuccessfully ; I had
calculated to spare both myself and others; but that night I was
forced to see that it was not possible any longer. I had to choose
between destroying the child's peace and happiness, or stifling my
selfish feelings."
"I see; and you put your feelings aside. But, was that not
generosity? Of a kind?"
She seemed surprised, then a faint smile again parted her lips.
" I should barely call it 'justice,' " she remarked ; " but you are a
thorough woman. Nemo; partial, loving, illogical as soon as your heart
is touched. And yet intelligent, clear-sighted and painfully conscien-
tious at other times. At present because you are feeling fonder of me,
I am guiltless."
" I hope you are not going to add," I interrupted reproachfully,
" that to-morrow I shall be of another opinion."
She was going to speak, but as I looked at her she stopped. For
a moment we held each other's glance; I could see the amber gleam
in her hazel eyes.
"What is it, mother?" I asked very low.
She hesitated; a great sadness welled up in her; then she bent
forward, placing her hand on my shoulder.
" I was not altogether generous that night, my child," she said,
" you must ask God to help me."
"What do you mean?"
" I mean that Joan and I must become true friends ; true in the
absolute sense of the word, if possible."
"As you tried then?"
" No.; not as / tried. That was not enough."
VOL. a.— 34
530 WHITE EAGLE [July,
"Yet, you pitied the girl."
" Do you think that pity is sufficient where I am concerned? One
wearies of pity."
" Mother, dearest—"
She shook her head slowly, and leaned back.
" Oh ! I intend to try. I came here — ^as perhaps you can guess —
to gather strength and peace ; there is no need to make a mystery of it
to you. Indeed you have been strangely comprehensive, as well as
tactful, and patient with my fads and my temper this evening."
" I fancied that you were unhappy," I said half-shyly.
She nodded. Then she turned to take back the review which had
slipped on the sofa.
" Mother," I asked with a little hesitation, " you will not oe sorry
later on for speaking to me as you have done; will you?"
"No; why?"
" Oh ! I can scarcely tell. Sometimes one regfrets having been so
frank."
" No," she said ; " on the whole I regret nothing. For one rea-
son, I felt angry, and my judgment of you was unfair."
" Not quite."
" Quite," she repeated firmly. " For another, because we are
women, and follow intangible reasons ; or again because the strongest
of bows cannot remain stretched forever. Nemo, dear, take an old
woman's advice; never play au plus fin with your conscience; it is
a losing game."
" I don't think I ever feel inclined to do it," I said honestly.
"No; I suppose not. Well! (thoughtfully) thank God for it!
Others find it a slippery road. And now, child, shall we go up?
We are both tired."
But it was early yet ; and, besides, the atmosphere had been cleared
up. In short I protested. * So there we sat ; forgetting the time and
letting the fire die down ; yet what we spoke of, then, could not be
analyzed. It was made of those intimate, half-sentences which a look,
a nod or even a silence suffice to complete. But I was aware that such
hours would seldom come back as full again. With the daylight, next
morning, our lives would fall back into their formal grooves ; though
I knew also that a path had been opened between your mother's soul
and mine, and that occasionally we would meet there if need arose.
And when two days later we left C I believe that we were both the
better for this new link between us. The very evening of my return,
Nancy, Joan and Max arrived almost together to welcome me.
" You dear old Nemo ! " exclaimed Max who, according to cus-
tom, came up two steps at a time. " It is so nice to have you back
again ! And what a lovely day you had for coming home."
1915] WHITE EAGLE 531
I smiled and agreed: "Yes, I was very glad of it for your
mother."
" I suppose you were surprised to hear of her leaving London? "
" I was. But I think she needed a little change. It did her good."
" Please ring the bell, Max, will you. We will have some tea."
" Oh ! tea. But Nancy and Joan will be here in a few minutes if
you don't mind waiting. We were to meet here at five."
" Very well," I said, " then while we are waiting, you must tell
me the news."
" I don't think there is much. You heard that Mrs. Marchmont
had gone to the Hermitage? "
" And taken Miss Lowinska with her, yes."
"Well! Dick Marchmont told me yesterday that after the first
week they had the most wretched weather ; though Millicent wrote to
him that they were enjoying it, because it gave them opportunity *to
think.' "
"Was that one of Dick's jokes?"
" Not at all. He had to send them quite a pile of books with
forbidding titles', he said; some on philosophy, on controversial
theology, and other humorous insignificant subjects of the same kind."
"Max!"
" I am stating bare facts. He even asked me whether there were
any 'Preaching Order' of women, as he thought they might be quali-
fying for it."
" What absurd nonsense! "
" I am in earnest, I assure you. I told him that I didn't believe
there was such a thing; but that, if his wife and Miss Lowinska were
anxious to 'meditate,' I should rather recommend a Convent of Trap-
pistine Nuns."
" Max, you are worse than a schoolboy! "
" What a calumny! He was most interested, and when I explained
that in the Trappist Order, absolute silence was the rule, he said it was
the very thing. It would suit Millicent so well that if she needed it,
he would send his consent to her in his best handwriting."
" You silly fellow, you are too ridiculous. What I want to know
is something about you and Joan. Things are quite straight now,
I hope."
" Oh! as for that, straight as a die, thank goodness! But do you
know. Nemo dear, sometimes it seems uncanny to see how suddenly all
obstacles and worries have vanished."
" Well ! " said I wisely, " they have vanished, that is, the principal
point. How did your mother get on with Joan until the time of her
coming to me?"
" Oh ! capitally. There was not a hitch anywhere. She even gave
532 WHITE EAGLE [July,
us carte blanche to have half of the house altered and refurnished as
we might wish it. Only — "
"Yes?"
" Only I fancy that she hated to have it done before her eyes ;
and that it is the reason which sent her to enjoy the spring in Devon-
shire."
** Very likely. But now, Max dear, before our two friends arrive,
will you take a little advice from me ? "
"With a heart and a half. Nemo; what is it? "
" It is this. I have good reasons for thinking that your mother
wishes everything in the future to go on pleasantly. She intends to
make a friend of Joan, and you must give her every opportunity of
doing so. On the other hand, Joan need know nothing of it, so as to
remain perfectly natural. She could not play a part, you realize
that."
*' I do."
" Very good. Ah ! here they are. You may ring now. Max."
Which he did, and with a will.
Joan and Nancy came into the room with bright faces and merry
smiles. Joan looked charming with her daintily fiudied cheeks and her
soft lashes, sweeping down in a half-shy, childlike way. Truly it was
a joy to see the girl so happy at last, and I think she guessed my feel-
ings.
Then tea came up — what you, my darling, often called provokingly
" f renchified tea," because little Dubois makes such a peculiar choice
of cakes. This time, however, none of us objected.
R^inald, if you had been there, how complete our enjoyment
would have been! We all felt so light hearted; Nancy's eyes shone
with that gentle motherly light, so apparent when she is with Joan;
Max was in exuberant spirits, and Joan herself was witty and amusii^
on the subject of their purchases. I will spare you the details. After
an hour or so Joan recollected she had an appointment with her
father. Max naturally disappeared with her, leaving Nancy and me
alone.
Then, Reginald dear, silence fell between us, and while Mary re-
moved the tea things we mechanically drew nearer the fire. Not that
it was cold, but somehow one can exchange thoughts more easily in
that particular place. I felt that Nancy had come with the purpose of
staying after the others, to get from me what she calls le dessous des
cartes; but I was not at all sure that I ought to give it. On the
other hand, I keep very few things from her.
For a while she waited ; then she brought her chair nearer again,
leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her chin on her hands,
and at last smiled broadly.
19151 WHITE EAGLE 533
"I see," she said, "you are on your guard; so something did
happen."
"What do you call 'something?'"
" I don't know yet, of course. But if you are ready to fence you
must have a motive. Did you seriously disagree with Mrs. Camber-
well?"
"Certainly not?"
" Did you try to show her the 'errors of her ways?' "
"Nance!"
" It would have been a 'work of mercy.' "
" Don't be horrid."
" I am not I only wish for her amendment."
" My dear you are unjust to Mrs. Camberwell. You dislike her."
" Humbug! I am the only human being thoroughly fair to her;
and I admire her almost more than I do any other woman."
" I don't understand you."
" Of course not You are merely English ! We O'Dwyers, being
Irish, are very keen sportsmen, and Mrs. Camberwell is gloriously
game."
" I must say yo« have opposed her with all your might."
" I should think so. Just as we run a fox to ground. By the
way, didn't you hunt a little scrap with us before you went to C ? "
" I did, I know, but—"
" But you have changed your mind."
" No ; I merely found out that now, like Don Quixote, we were
fighting windmills."
" How fortunate! So peace was sealed after such a discovery."
" Peace was sealed."
"Well! It is most satisfactory. But what is to be her next
move — ^because I am convinced that there will be a move from her? "
" I think you are distinctly prejudiced."
"Am I?"
" Why couldn't Mrs. Camberwell — ^like anyone else — ^be sorry for a
possible mistake, and disposed to repair it? "
" Oh, she is sorry for her mistake ! She calls it a mistake."
" I (firmly) call it a mistake; she did not. She was perfectly
straight and open about it."
"And she wishes to mend matters?"
" She does."
Nancy looked ^oughtf uUy through the window behind me ; then
she sighed.
" I wish to goodness I could believe it," she said.
" I don't see where the difficulty comes in."
"Of course you don't."
534 WHITE EAGLE ' [July,
" And I give you my word that she was thoroughly sincere."
" That is quite possible."
" Then what do you wish to suggest?"
" Oh ! I can't just explain ; but it is like this. Even if Mrs. Cam-
berwell was as sorry and honest while speaking about Joan, as you
were yourself, it will come to nothing. She won't be able to keep
it up."
" I thought what you admired in Mrs. Camberwell was her 'iron
will.' "
Nancy shook her head.
" I know, I can't explain, I tell you! It is precisely her 'iron will'
that I dread. It would require so little to make it swing in the wrong
direction."
**I really don't think it right for you to say that."
" Nemo, dear, I see very well that I must appear prejudiced and
absurd ; but the Irish have a queer sense of perception that none of you
possess. It's my Irish 'scent' which makes me suspicious r we are not
out of the woods yet."
I was so provoked that I markedly changed the conversation.
Nancy threw me a rapid glance, then she submitted, and we kept to
fairly indifferent subjects until she had to go.
But when she said good-bye, she looked at me with those g^eat
affectionate eyes of hers, and said: "You are an awfully decent,
staunch little person. Nemo."
" Why 'little?* " I interrupted for the sake of stopping her; " I am
as tall as you are."
" Yes, perhaps, but slimmer and much younger too. You have not
my experience. Do you know that Joan was only three when my
mother died, and that I have brought her up myself?"
" Nancy, you will always be young."
" I daresay. All Irish people are. What I was going to say
was — "
" Please, I don't want to hear it."
"Oh!"
Then she smiled, her quick intuitive smile, kissed me heartily, and
hurried downstairs, calling out : " Don't forget that you dine with us
to-morrow. Eight o'clock ; but come early, Joan is sure to want you ! "
[to be continued.]
flew Boohs.
THE PRINCIPLES OF RURAL CREDIT. By James B. Morman.
New York: The Macmillan Co. $1.25.
The adequate, appropriate and economical financing of the
farmers of the United States and Canada is a problem of great and
growing importance. The author reviews with thoroughness and
lucidity the principles and development of personal and long time
credit so successful in European countries. Personal credit is a
term used to describe short time loans required to finance the in-
dustrial needs of the farmer as distinguished from the long term or
mortgage loans on the land itself.
The personal credit societies of the Raiffeisen and Schulze-
Delitzsch types are the most conspicuous examples quoted. The
Schulze-Delitzsch system in Germany, throughout other European
countries known as " People's Banks," is of urban origin, being
primarily intended to encourage thrift among working people. The
resources of the banks operated under this system being in excess of
the needs of accommodation of urban members, they have extended
their field of membership to include the rural population. At the
present time probably over one-fourth of the members are farmers.
The banks are operated on democratic principles, each member hav-
ing one vote only, no matter how many shares he may hold.
The Credit Unions on the Raiffeisen plan are strictly rural, but
persons living in country districts other than farmers, such as small
tradesmen, may become members. Members are usually owners of
small or medium-sized farms, ranging from two and a half to forty
acres. Liability is unlimited ; that is to say, the whole of the assets
of each member is charged with the Tepsymtnt of the obligations
created by the Union. As, however, the members are confined to
people well known to each other living in the same parish, and char-
acter is the basis of membership, and loans are made for productive
purposes only, the element of danger is very small. Personal
Credit Societies are federated into central banks, and where the
means available are not sufficient for their purposes, they have been
aided in various ways by the governments. With cheery optimism,
which perhaps does not sufficiently allow for the difference in
environment and mental habits of European and American farm-
ers, the author asserts:
536 NEW BOOKS [July,
Both local and central credit banks are the fruits of
the modest efforts of small land-owning farmers in Europe.
They came to the aid of each other by pledging their property
for their collective obligations, and then they laboriously but
securely built up their own reserve funds to protect their credit,
and to save themselves from financial loss in case of local
failures. The keynote of their success was confidence in each
other as neighbors and in their farmers' organizations. If
these simple principles could win success in Europe, there is no
reason why they cannot be made to succeed in any part of the
world, if put into practice by organized land-owning farmers.
The various forms of farm mortgage credit societies, some of
which are State assisted or State endowed, are dealt with. Common
to all is the right to create a mortgage on the amortization plan,
which in some European countries enables a farmer to borrow
money on his land at three and one-half per cent to four per cent,
with the additional charge of one quarter to one-half per cent
for cost of administration. Amortization payments are, as a rule,
compulsory, the minimum annual repa)mient of principal being
variously fixed at one-half, three-fourths to one per cent. The ad-
vantage of the amortization plan is that the borrower is by very
small periodical payments steadily, but surely, discharging the
mortgage indebtedness on the farm, and is free from the danger of
foreclosure. A table is given showing that on a mortgage debt
of one thousand dollars, running for twenty-six years at five per
cent interest, the farmer under amortization pays in interest $797.73*
and has discharged his debt by paying two per cent on the principal
each year, but under the straight mortgage, on the same terms as re-
gards the amount of the mortgage, interest and length of time,
the farmer pays $1,300 in interest, or $502.27 more than under the
amortization plan, and has done nothing to discharge the debt of
$1,000. The author implies that amortization of farm mortgages
in the United States should in future be made compulsory, and de-
clares that then it would make little difference whether farmers
themselves, private capital or the State furnished the money for the
purpose. To make these suggestions of practical value, it appears
to us the State would also have to provide some means of making
these amortized mortgages created in favor of private individuals
easily marketable, otherwise private lenders would divert to other
channels money now available for farm mortgage purposes, thus
aggravating instead of relieving the prevailing difficulties as to
1915] NEW BOOKS 537
mortgage credit. More practical, however, are the suggestions
made to relieve farmers of tfie oppressive conditions of loans result-
ing from the widespread evasion of the laws against usury.
The author suggests it is the first duty of the State to provide
the farmer with protection against credit abuses. It is urged that
more stringent laws should be enacted by State legislatures, and that
the same must be enforced. The author considers such protection
to the borrowing farmer a condition precedent to the establishment
of a sound rural credit system in America.
AN INTERPRETATION OF THE RUSSIAN PEOPLE. By Leo
Wiener. New York: McBride, Nast & Co. $1.25 net.
In view of the fact that Russia is the land of possibilities, and
destined apparently to assume a role of ever-increasing significance
in world affairs, an acquaintance with these possibilities, an intelli-
gent appreciation of what Russia is and may be in the future, be-
comes a matter no less of necessity than of interest. The present
work is what its title states, an attempt to present the essential
Russian soul, and thus to make possible a true diagnosis of the
present and a true forecast of the future.
Inasmuch as modem civilization is so largely a neutralizer of
geographical and historical influences, and gives the newest and the
oldest, the most advanced and the most backward, some measure
of equality in the chances for progress, the future of any race
or nation must be determined by its inherent qualities, its inner self,
its underlying soul. Hence Professor Wiener " confines himself to
the ascertainment of those spiritual principles which alone can help
the reader to comprehend and properly weigh the phenomena of the
social and artistic life of Russia." This aim he pursues through
his study of the eiiergizings of the Russian soul in literature, art,
music, religion, among the peasantry, the Intellectuals, women, etc.
The results he presents as a basis for final deductions might be
summed up as a conscious and persistent effort toward simplicity,
naturalness, democracy, religion, and the service of humanity and
the masses. Negatively this is a rejection of artificiality and par-
ticularism, and an impatience of the restraints of tradition. These
tendencies have at times engendered an over-purposefulness which
frowned on such things as poems of exquisite beauty which had no
direct lesson of usefulness. This national spirit is expressed in the
formula " Art for life's sake." These same principles of truth,
naturalness, humanitarianism and religion are found in every field
538 NEW BOOKS [July,
of Russian life, and even such a thing as race prejudice and in-
tolerance, so commonly attributed to the Russian people, is utterly
foreign to the real Russian spirit and is, wherever found, the work
of the Petrograd political system.
With these ideals sweeping everything before them, and with
the rapid growth of Constitutionalism, the future of Russia looks
most promising not only for the nation but for the world. When
her political and social evils are righted the Empire will carry the
banner of civilization and humanity in the vanguard of Europe.
This will take time, of course, for it is not to be realized as the result
of any crisis, such as the present war, but by the slow, irresistible
prevalence of what is truest and best in the national character.
So optimistic a judgment we are most pleased to accept, and
coming from one so qualified to speak, it has considerable authority.
With the author's general conclusions we would not differ. But the
Catholic reader will find some statements not at all in accord with
his knowledge or his taste, the author's views on Christianity and
ecclesiastical history being somewhat awry. A work of wider scope
would be more popular, as the average reader's knowledge of Russia
is limited to a passing acquaintance with Tolstoy, Pushkin, Dos-
toievsky, Vereshchagin, Glinka, Moussorgsky, and a few other
great figures in the current of distinctly national Russian genius.
However, an extensive bibliography at the end of the volume indi-
cates many sources (most of them in English) whence those inter-
ested can gain a general view of everything connected with the
Tsar's Empire.
GERMANY, FRANCE, RUSSIA AND ISLAM. By Heinrich von
Treitschke. New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons. $1.50.
This volume contains eight lectures delivered on various occa-
sions by Professor Treitschke of Berlin, in which he treats topics
related directly or indirectly to Germany's policy. The one on
" What We Demand from France," delivered before the Treaty of
Frankfort was signed, is necessarily of no more than academic in-
terest now, but the others throw light on German ideals and aspira-
tions during the last forty years, and tend to clear up some things
that have happened recently. The first one, that on Turkey, is
amusing in its strictures on the Ottoman system of government^
now that German officers are aiding in the defence of the Dar-
danelles. Catholic readers will naturally take most interest in two
speeches on Luther and on Gustavus Adolphus, where the thor-
1915.] NEW BOOKS 539
oughly anti-Catholic animus of the writer is allowed full play.
The following quotations may be taken as fairly representative of
their character:
They [i. e., the German Catholics] are neither able nor
willing to understand that the Reformer of our Church was
the pioneer of the whole German nation on the road to a freer
civilization, and that in the State and in society, in our homes
and in our centres of learning, his spirit still breathes life into
us.
In vain did the Jesuits continue to dream of the world-empire
of the Church; the States of Europe, none the less, formed
themselves by degrees into a new and free association, and built
up for themselves a universal code of national law, which was
more just than the former judgments of the Popes, and had its
roots in the common interests and the sense of justice of the
nations.
On Luther's advice Albert of Brandenburg, the Grand
Master of the Teutonic Order, decided to discard the white
mantle with the black cross, to repudiate the false chastity
of the monks, and to found a true and knightly dominion which
should seek to be acceptable to God and the world without the
aid of tinsel and false names It was from this district,
which was snatched from the old Church and stood or fell with
Protestantism, that the military greatness of our modern history
emerged to reveal itself in world-famed battles.
The present reviewer does not recall having ever read a clearer
statement of the essential connection between the rise of Prussia
and the Reformation. Prussia is the only country in Europe that
owes its aggrandizement absolutely to Protestantism. Others have
become Protestant, and have used that religion for their political
advantage, but Prussian power is in its very essence Protestant, and
she stands to-day the single instance of a nation that grew to worldly
glory solely out of the revolt against the ancient historical tradition
of European civilization.
WITH THE ALLIES. By Richard Harding Davis. New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons. $1.00 net.
The author was " with the Allies " both in s)rmpathy and in
person, and gives us lively descriptions of scenes and incidents of
the War from his own observation, such as the entry of the Ger-
mans into Brussels, the burning of Louvain, the Battle of Soissons,
and the bombardment of Rheims. His experience when arrested as
540 NEW BOOKS [July,
a spy, and his visit to Paris where the Germans were nearest to the
city, read like some of his best stories. Tribute is rendered to the
spirit shown by the English nation and by tfiose Americans who have
been occupied in the War Zone, and there is an especially noteworthy
chapter on the " Psychology of Courage-" Of course, the book
will not be pleasing to German sympathizers, but even they will not
be bored by it.
BRAMBLE BEES AND OTHERS. By Jean Henri Fabre. New
York: Dodd, Mead & Co. $1.50 net.
Nature lovers will welcome another addition to the rapidly
growing series of volumes on insect life from the pen of the great
French scientist, Jean Henri Fabre. Although the volume is writ-
ten by one of the greatest students of insect life, it is not dry and
pedantic as one might suspect, but, on the contrary, is simply and
interestingly written, and substantially supports the author's title of
the " Homer of the Insect Worid."
There is much food for thought in the book. Fabre is one
of the most astute students of Natural History the world has known.
He accepts no one's opinion, considers theorizing a waste of time,
and believes what he sees his insects do, not what someone else says
they do. He spurns Darwinism, finds no evidence for the mechani-
cal explanation of life, and says that the facts do not warrant the
ascribing of intelligence to the mental life of the insect. Fabre is
in good company here, as his well-known Catholic fellow-biologfist,
Eric Wasmann, S.J., has brilliantly maintained these positions for
some years.
Bramble Bees and Others shows Fabre to be a most remarkable
observer, not surpassed in this respect even by Darwin; a clean,
careful reasoner who confines himself to facts with much better
success than Darwin ; and a humble, patient scientist, who is never
embarrassed when admitting his ignorance.
In speaking of Darwinism, Fabre says : " The law of Natural
Selection impresses me with the vastness of its scope; but whenever
I try to apply it to actual facts, it leaves me whirling in space, with
nothing to help me to interpret realities. It is magnificent in theory,
but it is a mere gas bubble in the face of existing conditions. It is
majestic, but sterile. Then where is the answer to the riddle of
the world ? Who knows ? Who will ever know ? " Such modesty
is as becoming as it is unusual in a twentieth century scientist
Bramble Bees and Others will prove an effective antidote
1915] i^EW BOOKS 541
against the deluge of un-natural history that came upon us toward
the close of the twentieth century, and the effects of which have
been by no means totally effaced as yet.
As in previous volumes of M. Fabre's works, Mr. Alexander
de Mattos has made an excellent translation.
FOUR WEEKS IH THE TRENCHES. By Fritz Kreisler. Bos-
ton: Houghton Mifflin Co. $1.00 net.
This volume presents a graphic review of the personal remin-
iscenses of the famous violinist. He served as Lieutenant in the
Austrian army during the campaign before Lemberg, but was
wounded, and had to be discharged, to the intense relief of music
lovers in New York. This is really the first authentic account of
an eyewitness of the initial struggles on the Austro-Russian iron-
tier. It is short, but contains a great deal of interesting matter.
Interspersed with the presentation of the grim horrors of war and
of the bloodshed, savagery and death that accompany it, are narra-
tives of touching human interest, and numerous psychological studies
of the men living and fighting in the trenches.
THE PRESENT MILITARY SITUATION IN THE UNITED
STATES. By Major-General Francis Vinton Greene. New
York : Charles Scribner's Sons. 75 cents net.
This little book, which is substantially the address General
Greene delivered last winter in Portland, Maine, is not to be criti-
cized, but to be pondered over and taken to heart; for the writer
speaks with the authority of years of careful study. He is not an
alarmist, but he believes in squarely facing facts, no matter how
unpleasant these facts may be. And his one purpose is to awaken
his fellow-citizens to the need of providing for our military defence.
Those who are inclined to disregard Colonel Roosevelt's warnings
cannot afford to turn a deaf ear to the calm, quiet, but convincing,
utterances of one whose qualifications, personal and oflicial, are
beyond dispute. The publication of the lecture is a real service to
the country. The next thing is to act upon it.
FIGHTING IN FLANDERS. By E. Alexander PowelL New
York: Charles Scribner's Sons. $1.00 net.
Mr. Powell here gives us a detailed, accurate and undoubtedly
readable account of one little but very important corner of the
Great War — the fall of Antwerp and the fighting that led up ta
542 NEfV BOOKS [July,
it. He had unusual opportunities for observing these events, and
was frequently involved in highly exciting adventures. He saw per-
sonally many of the officers and men of the two armies, Belgian and
German, during the conflict; and was several times present in the
midst of battles. He visited the ruins of Louvain and Aerschot,
and describes their desolation and horror only too convincingly.
He was in Antwerp while it awaited, confident in its supposed im-
pregnability, the approach of the foe. And he describes the same
city in its bombardment and after the flight of its people. At one
time dodging bullets on the field, at another assuming the duties of
a consul toward all foreigners in the city, he lived through enough
excitement to supply a good many novels. In point of fact, his book
is far more thrilling and absorbing than the average adventure story,
and possesses the advantage of being highly informing at the same
time.
PROBLEMS OF CHILD WELFARE. By George B. Mangold,
Ph.D. New York: The Macmillan Co. $2.00.
Both the university student of philanthropy and the general
reader wishing to acquire some knowledge of practical sociology,
may profitably turn to this comprehensive study. It covers all the
principal radiations of the subject, and represents an immense
amount of research as well as capacity for selection and the mar-
shaling of facts and data. The book is interesting and very read-
able, for the writer's tone is, on the whole, more humane and less
uncompromisingly scientific than is displayed in much of the child-
problem literature of the day. He condemns wastage of life among
child weaklings and defectives. He is a champion of the home, and
says : " The child without a good home suffers an enormous
handicap."
Nevertheless his qualifications as a " modem " thinker are
sufficiently evidenced by his free use of the word " unfit " to describe
certain classes of humanity, and his obvious conviction that social
reform must not be gauged or guided by sentiment, which must be
subordinated. His views in regard to religion as a social factor
are curious and somewhat hard to coordinate. The wisdom of so-
cial progress, he says, has declared in favor of small families, there-
fore " opposition to a judicious limitation of size of family is re-
actionary and unsocial;" it springs mainly from religious preju-
dice, " which has no right to interfere with social reform." Again,
social reform demands sex-education, and in this " the church " has
igiSl NEW BOOKS 543
not performed its part, and Sunday-schools will never be success-
ful until, among other reforms, " the emphasis is shifted from dog-
matic theology to applied religion." Yet, later, in his summing up,
he states that "private enterprise through the church and other
moral and social agencies arouses the few to nobler ideals, which
then slowly spread through the commtmity, and are finally crys-
tallized into law." Presumably, connection with the source of in-
spiration is then severed and, freed from this incubus, progress is
assured.
Dr. Mangold mentions some problems of which he admits the
solution to be difficult It happens that these difficulties have their
origin in human nature's most strongly rooted instincts. It has been
the world's experience that in similiar crises not transformation but
reaction ensues : no such misgivings, however, obtrude themselves
upon the author, who tells us that " the state permits no backward
step." It would appear that while past ages teem with error, .there
has been granted to this century a mysterious guarantee of immunity
from mistake.
THE FRENCH IN THE HEART OF AMERICA. By John Finley.
New York : Charles Scribner's Sons. $2.50 net.
It is not often that history, romance, prophecy, story, statistics,
and legend are so happily woven together as they are here. And
that is all the more noteworthy as the Middle West is not a region
that one usually associates with the picturesque side of historical
writing. In these pages its tale becomes of absorbing interest. Ex-
plorer, priest, pioneer, visionary, colonist, pass before us as actors
in a great human drama, and at the end we feel that the writer has
accomplished his purpose of " freshening and brightening for the
French the memory of what some of them have seemingly wished to
forget, and of visualizing to them the vigorous, hopeful, achieving
life that is passing before that Gallic background of venturing and
praying."
The full development of the theme assumes the form of a quasi-
romantic narrative, the story of stem privations, ^itantic labors, and
frontier stru^les. And, alas, with this must come the sad tale of
mismanagement and intrigue which finally ruined La Salle's scheme
of " New France." The origin and development of the great West-
em cities, the spirit of Lincoln as typical of the spirit of the great
Middle West, the democracy and idealistic altruism that pervade the
" Men of Always," all are enthusiastically set forth that the reader
544 NEW BOOKS [July,
may clearly discern *' that the roots of the mighty, virile, healthy,
aspiring Western cities are entwined about symbols of French ad-
venture and empire, the sword, the boat and the Crucifix."
THE WAR-BOOK OF THE GERMAN GENERAL STAFF.
Translated by J. H. Morgan, M.A. New York: McBride,
Nast & Co. $i.oo net.
This is a different sort of book from most others connected
with the War, bearing as it does an official character. Yet we regret
to say that, considering the performances of the German Army in
Belgiimi and of the German submarines, portions of the volume can
possess no more than an " academic " interest. For instance, the
concluding chapter (" Usages of War as Regards Neutral States ")
would be bitter reading for one who had passed through the awful
experiences of Liege, Louvain, and Antwerp. In fact, the German
War Office seems to have adopted on paper the regulations of civi-
lized nations generally regarding military operations, but to have
shown an astounding readiness to adapt them to their own interests.
Even that much cannot be wholly granted, for we question whether
many students of international law would accept the teaching that it
is lawful to use the inhabitants of a conquered region as shields for
protecting the troops of their enemies by putting them on troop
trains; and that such persons may also be forced to act as guides
for their foes.
AMONG THE CANADIAN ALPS. By Lawrence J. Burpee.
New York : John Lane Co. $3.00 net.
The Great War in Europe will force many thousands of
pleasure seekers to take the western trail through the Canadian
Rockies to the coast We advise every one of them to read this
absorbing volume of Mr. Burpee who, more thoroughly than any
of his predecessors — and their name is l^on — has grasped to
the full the fascination of the Canadian Alps. He writes most
understandingly of glorious mountains and pine-scented valleys,
lakes of torquoise and emerald, rushing crystal streams, water-
falls innumerable, glaciers and snow-fields, rugged cliffs and green-
clad slopes, rock-strewn ridges and flower-bedecked meadows, and
the clear intoxicating air of the wonderland of the West.
Special chapters are devoted to the national parks of Canada,
the country in and about Banff, the Canadian Matterhom, Mt.
Assiniboine, the monarch of the Rockies, Mt. Robson, the incom-
1915-1 NEIV BOOKS 545
parable Lake Louise, the valley of the Yoho, the caves of Nakimu,
and the Moose River Trail.
The volume is beautifully illustrated with four excellent colored
plates and forty-five photographs.
JAPAN, TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. By Hamilton Wright
Mabie. New York : The Macmillan Co. $2.00 net.
Mr. Mabie is most enthusiastic over the Japan of to-day, and
most hopeful of the Japan of to-morrow. He tries to prove, in
these very optimistic pages, that the Japanese of to-day is not
an unscruplous schemer who will prove a dangerous foe to the
Westerners in the future, but one eager to interpret the East to the
West, and to win a place among the great powers only to further
all that makes for the peace and prosperity of the world.
He tells us Japan's attitude toward nature and religion, her
social habits, her history, her tastes and recreations, her ideals, her
artistic sense, and her wonderful progress in modem times.
He believes that most of the present-day dislike for Japan in
the United States is due to the fact that Japan has ceased to be a
museum or a country appealing merely to the artistic instinct, and
has entered the area of commercial struggle and become our able
and ambitious competitor.
Mr. Mabie has, to our mind, drawn too rosy a picture of the
Japanese people. He says not one word, from beginning to end, of
the irreligion, superstition, immorality, fanaticism, and conceit
which other less kindly critics mention and perhaps over-emphasize.
THE ORIGINS OF THE WAR. By J. Holland Rose. New York:
G. P. Putnam's Sons. $1.00.
This book by the well-known historian and biographer of Napo-
leon, is a review in eight lectures of the events which have contributed
to bring about the hostility between Germany and England : The
Transvaal difficulties, Morocco, the Bagdad Railway scheme, and
" Pan-Germanism." There is also a chapter on the Kaiser, in which
the writer treats of his temperamental characteristics and his re-
ligious belief. The author is inclined to recognize the justness of
Germany's desire for territory. " Is it surprising that she feels
land-hunger ? Endowed with a keen sense of national pride, she was
certain to experience some such feeling; and we, who have ex-
panded partly by force of arms, partly by a natural overflow of
population, shall be foolishly blind if we do not try to understand
VOL. CT.— 35
546 NEW BOOKS [July,
the enemy's point of view." He hopes that after the war " the fiat
of mankind will go forth that they shall acquire, if need be,
parts of Asia Minor, Mesopotamia, and South Brazil. America will
realize that the world cannot forever bow down to the Monroe Doc-
trine, especially as the United States have become a colonizing
Power, but that parts of South America may safely be thrown open
to systematic colonization by a nation like Germany." This is inter-
esting.
The book covers a good deal of ground, though it runs to less
than two hundred pages. Still, though it will not greatly enhance
the author's reputation, it is evidently the work of a real student of
modem history, and not the hasty production of an amateur dabbler
in European diplomacy or the picturesque chat of a newspaper cor-
respondent.
THE NEW TESTAMENT. Volume III. St. Paul's Epistle to
the Churches. Part V. — Ephesians and Colossians, by Rev.
Joseph Rickaby, S.J. ; Philemon and Philippians, by Rev.
Alban Goodier, S.J. New York: Longmans, Green & Co.
40 cents.
In a scholarly introduction the editors give a brief account of
the circumstances under which the four Epistles of the Captivity
were written, followed by a brief discussion and summary of each
Epistle separately.
The English translation, while following in great part the
language of the Vulgate, corrects a number of faulty renderings in
our traditional English text. The copious footnotes are most
helpful and suggestive.
THE LIFE OF SAINT SEVERINUS. By Eugippius. Translated
into English for the first time with notes by George W. Robin-
son. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. $2.50.
This translation of the life of St. Severinus is from the re-
cension of the text by Theodor Mommsen, published in Berlin,
1898, in the series of Scriptores Rerum Germanicarum, It was
written in the beginning of the sixth century at the request of the
deacon Paschasius by the Saint's pupil, Eugippius, Abbot of a
Neapolitan monastery. It is the only written docimient we have
of the history of the Danubian provinces during the last years of the
Roman Occupation. The Saint settled near the present city of
Vienna, built a monastery for himself and his companions, and spent
1915] NEIV BOOKS 547
many years ministering to the Christians who were suffering greatly
at the hands of the barbarians. He prophesied to Odoacer, King
of the Heruli, that he would overthrow the Roman Empire of the
West, and persuaded the Alamannic king, Gibold, not to ravage
the Roman territory. The translation is very well done.
A HISTORY OF THE COMMANDMENTS OF THE CHURCH.
By Rev. A. Villien. St. Louis: B. Herder. $1.50 net.
The Abbe Villien, of the Catholic University of Paris, has
put in book form his scholarly articles on the origin and develop-
ment of the precepts of the Church, which first appeared in the
pages of the Remie du Clergi Frangais. The learned professor
traces each precept to its source, and discusses its history in various
times and places. We recommend this book highly.
PULPIT THEMES. Translations of Schouppe's 'Adjumenta Oror
torts Sacri. By Rev. P. A. Beecher. St. Louis : B. Herder.
$2.75 net.
This volimie will be a rich source of helpfulness to every priest
engaged in parochial work. The value of Father Schouppe's work
is that the outlines are full enough to give ample suggestion and
direction for further individual development of the theme. The
translation by Father Beecher is thoroughly well done, and many
times but adds to the timeliness and practical application of the
author's thought. The volume includes almost every dogmatic and
moral subject upon which a priest is called to preach, and an index
points out where suitable matter may be found for every Simday
and great Feast Day of the year.
A FAR COUNTRY. By Winston Churchill. New York: The
Macmillan Co. $1.50.
The title of this latest novel of Mr. Churchill hardly conveys
the notion that it has for its t3rpe and lesson the beautiful Gospel
story of the Prodigal Son. Such, however, is its meaning and pur-
pose. But the setting is wholly modern and American; its ap-
plication found primarily in the person of Hugh Paret, the leading
character of the story, is meant to be extended to that whole class
of clever, strong, unscnipulous men who in our day and country
manipulate high finance, control and prevent legislation, to those
who, in a word, juggle with the rights and the welfare of the
masses. This ethical, instructive and reformatory purpose is
548 NEIV BOOKS [July,
worked out in the autobiography of the aforesaid Hugh Paret. He
gives us a presentation of the motives, methods and indeed of the
results of those methods, on the part of corporation lawyers, legisla-
tors and politicians, high and low, which will surely elicit resentment
and denial from them, but which, in truth, might serve as a tran-
script of facts and " deals '* in many a place during the last twenty
years in these United States.
We do not mean to give the impression that this novel is a
mere preachment, a high-class sample of muck-raking, for it is a
vital dramatic story with the elements of love, ambition, success
and tragedy woven into the lives of its characters — ^but, coincident
with these personal elements, the great problems of our day and
country are discussed and illustrated.
The development of Hugh Paret from an imaginative dreamy
child, in a home of stern Calvinism, into a secretive, self-willed
youth, and later into an irreligious, unscrupulous lawyer, whose de-
sires will not be denied or put aside, if pertinacity or fraud can com-
pass them, his onward career, his blessings far beyond his deserts in
home and powerful friends, in reputation and success, his prosti-
tution of talent and money to outwit the law, to down rivals, to
crush the weak — all these are forcefully presented as they turn to
ashes, to self -con tempt, and cynicism. Indeed, through all these
schemes, there is a voice of conscience which, by rebuking him,
finally works out his recovery to better and higher things, and brings
back from a far country the modem prodigal. Let us say,
honestly, he is somewhat unconvincing. In the Gospel story we
pity and make allowances for the youthful follies, the impulsive
dissipation, the ingratitude because it is blended with true contri-
tion and humility born of shame and trial — but it is hard to feel
aught but contempt for the calculated depravity, the repeated aban-
donment of warning and principle, of his latest namesake.
In the wider application of the parable to the whole class
of modern prodigals, Paret's associates and imitators, it is made
manifest that this whole country has wandered far from its pristine
ideals of democracy, has bidden farewell for a time at least to its
former simplicity of beliefs and principles, until, alas, it too has wal-
lowed with the swine in the trough of materialism with the at-
tendant evils of corruption, political and domestic, ending in family
disruption and civil revolt.
The book is interesting and strong and repays perusal, though
there are things in it which a Catholic will find to be unpleasant and
1915] NEli^ BOOKS 549
offensive both in its theories and its incidents, as, for example, the
long-drawn-out episode where Hugh attempts to win Nancy from
even her poor conception of wifely duty, the belittling of authority,
and, above all, the impotent futile remedy that a better education
will be the sovereign panacea for individual and social wrongs.
A better education would assuredly do much, if by that were meant
a deepening of moral truth, but mere scientific or intellectual dilet-
tanteism is plainly no remedy, will bring no return to right principle,
will produce no salvation.
**MEN, NOT ANGELS.'' By Katharine Tynan. New York: P.
J. Kenedy & Sons. $1.10.
This collection of tales, though " told to girls," will not interest
them exclusively : there is plenty of charm and amusement for their
elders as well.
The author has sought her inspiration on both sides of the
Channel, and has given us many pleasing sketches of faith and
human love, both of to-day and yesterday. A number of the stories
are undoubtedly slight, and a trifle unsatisfying. The author has
touched, but touched, as it were, impersonally, the sources of human
emotion and motive. There is a certain aloofness in her attitude
that fails to bring the reader into direct sympathetic relation with
the characters. But it is a greater artistic virtue to limit than to
overtax, and there is no lack in the present tales of suggestiveness
and delicacy of touch, and of that subtly indispensable thing called
atmosphere.
Even to the above stricture there are some delightful excep-
tions, such as Violet Frank, the would-be Carmelite, and the good
Cure who naively named his wines for the departed. These alone,
drawn with charmingly tender humor, will amply repay the reader
for his perusal of the book.
THE REDISCOVERED UNIVERSE. By Daniel Conrad Phillips.
Boston: Sherman, French & Co.
We wonder how any publisher could have risked his reputation
by daring to print so puerile a volume. The writer's attack upon
Christianity is written throughout in bad English, and reads for the
most part like the ravings of a maniac. The book contains over
a score of chapters, but the writer fails to keep to his text in any
of them. We are still wondering what he means by the Redis-
covered Universe.
SSo NEiy BOOKS [July,
THE MUTINY OF THE ELSINORE. By Jack London. New
York: The Macmillan Co. $1.35 net.
If the eager novel reader wishes to enter a Chamber of Horrors,
and experience a series of thrills for a couple of hours, we advise
him to read this story of a mutiny at sea. The Elsinore is a
freighter sailing from Baltimore to Valparaiso around Cape Horn.
Its crew is composed of the greatest set of scoundrels ever gathered
together in fact or fiction. Outside of the " perishing blond " hero
and his " vital-bodied " sweetheart and her father, the Captain,
the score of characters that figure in the story are all murderers,
degenerates, gangsters, thieves, lunatics, and would-be suicides.
The only part of the book that we dare commend is the description
of the storm off Cape Horn. The story as a whole is coarse, re-
pulsive and pagan.
A CENTURY'S CHANGE IN RELIGION. By George Harris.
Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co. $1.25 net.
The title of this book is most misleading. The President
Emeritus of Amherst College deals only with New England Prot-
estantism, and shows how the old-time Calvinism of one hundred
years ago has become in our day out-and-out rationalism and un-
belief. In a most superior way the writer tells us that " Christianity
has been obscured by dogma, the authority of the church, and
asceticism." He also informs us that evolution has banished the
Adam of theology with its doctrine of the fall of man, and that
modem critical science has delivered us from the bondage of
Biblical miracles, the Virgin Birth, the Divinity of Christ, the resur-
rection of the body, the myth of a personal devil and the like.
What would the founders of Andover think of a professor who
would sum up Christianity in the Unitarian formula of " the Father-
hood of God and the Brotherhood of Man," and teach his pupils
that the dogmas of the creeds were man-made?
FROM FETTERS TO FREEDOM. By Rev. Robert Kane, S.J.
New York: Longmans, Green & Co. $1.50 net.
In this volume Father Kane, the blind Jesuit orator, has
gathered together more than a score of his sermons. They were
preached during the past fifteen years in Ireland, on various occa-
sions, at the consecration of a bishop, the dedication of a church, the
" clothing " of a nun, the opening of a new pulpit, and the golden
jubilee of a church, college or convent. As he says himself:
ipiS-l NUW BOOKS 551
"These discourses are broadly illustrative of the emerging of
Catholic Ireland from the serfdom of the penal laws unto civil,
social and religious liberty." The best sermons of the volume are
the panegyric of Blessed Oliver Plunket, and the address to the
Catholic Truth Society on the Miracles of Lourdes.
P J. KENEDY & SONS, of New York, have sent us two plays,
-'' • Louis XL, translated from the original of Casimir Delavig^e
by W. R. Markwell, adapted for performance by male characters
only by J. H. Stratford, and Jane Grey, A Nine Day^ Queen,
adapted from Sir Aubrey de Vere's Mary Tudor by the Ursulines
of New Rochelle, New York. The price of each is twenty-five
cents. We recommend both to parish dramatic clubs, colleges, and
convents.
"M" H. GILL & CO. of Dublin have just published a new trans-
^^* lation of the Catechism of Pope Pius X. by Dr. Hagan,
Vice-Rector of the Irish College, Rome.
PATHER JOHN HENRY, C.SS.R., has written The Earthly
^ Paradise (St. Louis: B. Herder. 15 cents), a little treatise
on vocation for those souls that feel drawn to religious life, but
do not possess the inclination or the talent to become teachers.
Such souls, he tells us, may become very useful members of religious
communities as lay brothers or lay sisters.
FOREIGN PUBLICATIONS.
Instructions d'un Quart d'Heure, by Abb6 J. Pailler. (Paris: Pierre
T^ui. 4frs, 5a) The Abb^ Pallier has published one hundred fifteen-minute
sennons on the Sunday Gospels and Epistles. They are remarkably well writ-
ten, and full of that simplicity and unction which characterize the best of the
modem French pulpit orators.
Qui a its rinstigateur de la Guerre f by Vindex. (Paris : Maison de la Bonne
Presse.) This little brochure of one hundred and twenty-five pages answers the
accusation of the modem French anticlerical that the Githolic Church is
responsible for the Great War in Europe. It shows conclusively that malice
alone could accuse the Pope, the French bishops, priests, and religious of
involving France in a war with (krmany.
Les Responsabilitis de VAllemagne dans la Guerre de 1914, by P. Saintyves.
(Paris: Librairie E. Nourry. 4/ri.) In a volume of some six hundred pages
M. Saintyves seeks to prove that the Great War in Europe is due to German
militarism, and that France, Russia and England did their utmost to preserve
peace during the last days of July, 1914. He pays special attention to (kr-
man/s violation of the neutrality of Belgium, and denounces vehemently her
alleged violations of the principles of international law.
SS2 f^^^ BOOKS [July,
Les Barhares en Belgique, by Pierre Nothomb. (Paris: Pcrrin et Cie.
Sfrs. 50.) This volume deals exclusively with Germany's violation of the
neutrality of Belgium. The Belgian Minister of Justice, M. H. Carton de
Wiart, writes a preface praising the author for his vivid portraying of German
outrages, and prophesying the victory of the Allies.
Le Mouvement Thiologique du Xlle Siicle, by J. de Ghellinck, S.J.
(Paris: Librairie Victor Lecoffre. 6frs.) The Abbe Ghellinck has written a
detailed and learned account of the status of theological science in the twelfth
century. In an introductory chapter he gives a brief account of the develop-
ment of theology from the end of the patristic age to the close of the eleventh
century. He describes the intellectual decadence resulting from the barbarian
invasions and the rise of Mohammedanism, and traces the revival of theological
thought to the Carlovingian schools of the eighth century. The iron age of
the tenth century again spelled decadence, but the eleventh set up a new standard
of development, which was to reach its acme in the splendid age of thirteenth
century scholasticism.
Chapter 11. treats of Peter Lombard's Liber Sententiarum and its place
in the history of the development of the twelfth century; Chapter IIL dis-
cusses the relation of Peter Lombard's book with the Sententue of Gandul-
I^us of Bologna; (Hiapter IV. speaks of the influence of the writings of St
John Damascene upon Western thought; and Chapter V. of the relation of
theology with canon law in the deventh and twelfth centuries.
Les Saints: Saint Cyprian, by Paul Monceaux; Saint Athanase, by
Abb^ Gustave Bardy; Saint Justin, by Abb^ M. J. Lagrange, O.P. (Paris:
Librairie Victor LecoflFre. 2frs. each.) Paul Monceaux, the Professor of
Latin Literature in the Collige de France, has published a life of St Cyprian
which is part of his well-known work, The Literary History of Christian
Africa, The five chapters of this interesting volume deal with the life of St
Cyprian, his apologetic works, his moral treatises and his preaching, his letters,
and his literary influence. M. Monceaux brings out in clear perspective the
arduous labors of St Cyprian's most active episcopate.
The Abb^ Bardy has written a scholarly and critical study of the life and
writings of St. Athanasius, the great defender of the Council of Nice against
the Arians of the fourth century. Many of the details of the Saint's life are
gathered from his own writings, such as the Apology against the Arians, the
Apology for his flight, the History of the Arians, the Letter on the synods
of Rimini and Seleucia.
We know little of the life of St Justin save his love of philosophy, his
conversion and his martyrdom. Father Lagrange, therefore, treats chiefly of
St Justin's work as an apologist for the faith against Jew (Chapter II.) and
pagan (Chapter III.-V.), and his teaching on the Incarnation (Chapter VI.).
Note. — On account of the non-arrival of the foreign period-
icals, we have been compelled to omit that department this month. —
[Ed. C W.]
I^ecent Events.
The Editor of The Catholic World wishes to state that none
of the contributed articles or departments, signed or unsigned, of
the magazine, with the exception of " With Our Readers'' voices
the editorial opinion of the magc^ine. And no article or department
voices officially the opinion of the Patdist Community.
In the West, with the exception of a small
Progress of the War. advance of the Germans in the neighborhood
of Ypres, any change that has taken place
has been in favor of the Allies, although when compared with the
task which they have to accomplish, the gains which have been made
by the British and French seem to be almost negligible, especially
as the casualties have been very numerous. The expected general
offensive has not taken place, and this is the more to be wondered
at as the Germans have removed large forces from the West in
order to make their onslaught on the Russians in Galicia. A great
change has taken place in the spirit in which the conflict is being
carried on. The British troops have until recently looked upon
their opponents as brave enemies, worthy, on that account, of a
soldier's respect; since the sinking of the Lusitania, however, and
the cowardly use of the asphjrxiating gases which have caused so
many excruciating deaths, the German soldier has come to be looked
upon as a monster, of whom the earth must be freed at any cost.
The serious defeats which Russia has suffered are, of course, a
great disappointment to the Allies, inasmuch as they will lengthen
the war indefinitely. These defeats are not looked upon as decisive,
as they were due to temporary causes over which Russia had no
control, nor is there any great expectation that Germany will
cripple Russia so seriously as to be able to send large reenforce-
ments to the West. Possibly misfortune may have a good
effect upon Russia as she is apt, when successful, to be somewhat
domineering and self-seeking. The humiliation she has suffered
may make her more willing to come to terms with Rumania about
the possession of Bessarabia, and with the other Balkan States
about Constantinople. Whether or not any of these States will
enter into the war is, at the time these lines are being written,
still in doubt. The war party in Greece has, even in the absence
of M. Venezelos, secured an overwhelming victory; but it cannot
yet be said with certainty what the consequences will be. The exact
state of things on the Dardanelles has not been disclosed, nor whether
554 RECENT EVENTS [July,
they will be the scene of Italian action. There still seems to be an
opportunity for Greece to be of service, as well to herself as to the
Allies. Italy has undertaken the offensive against Austria, and has
advanced a considerable distance into Austrian territory, but nothing
that can be considered in any way decisive or even indicative of
future success has yet taken place.
An apparently sudden upheaval has taken
Great Britain. place in Great Britain; one, however, which
in no way signified any weakening in the
determination on the part of the nation to carry through the war to
the end. On the contrary, the change is due to the belief that the
Government was not taking the most effectual means to secure
success. In fact, the people as a whole have shown themselves
more devoted to the cause than the Government, and in the way that
is specially characteristic of its people they soon took means to effect
a change. The occasion of the change was, in the first place, the
dissension which arose in the Admiralty between Mr. Winston
Churchill, the First Civil Lord, and Lord Fisher, the First Naval
Lord. The former is credited with being overmasterful, and with
having tried to act as an autocratic ruler, without regard to the
advice of the trained experts of which the Commission of the Admir-
alty is made up. The details of the matter are, of course, concealed
from the public; it is, however, surmised that the attempt made in
March to force the Dardanelles by means of the navy alone, without
military assistance, was made by Mr. Churchill's orders in opposition
to the advice of Lord Fisher. The latter is as confident in the
wisdom of his own opinions as is the former, and finding that he was
being repeatedly overborne, refused to act further under Mr. Church-
hill. A conflict thus arose between two men who have in the present
war been of the greatest service to the nation. To Mr. Churchill
is due the fact that in the first hours of the war the fleet was in
complete readiness, and was able to control the situation — a situa-
tion the danger of which very few fully realize. To Lord Fisher
it IS largely due that there was a fleet strong enough to overwhelm
that of the enemy. The result of the crisis has been that both Mr.
Churchill and Lord Fisher have left the Admiralty. Mr. Churchill
is indeed a member of the new Cabinet, but in an office of no great
weight; Lord Fisher has retired into private life.
The troubles at the Admiralty were the beginning of the storm :
the War Office under Lord Kitchener felt its full force. It trans-
pired through the efforts of The Times that the lives of soldiers at
ipisl RECENT EVENTS 555
the front had been uselessly sacrificed on account of the want of
high explosive shells, and that these shells were wanting because
Lord Kitchener had neglected to comply with the demands made
upon him. The German soldiers have made their trenches as strong
as fortresses; the front trenches are strengthened with concrete,
and in rear of them are refuges in which the soldiers are sheltered
during a bombardment. Explosive shells alone are strong enough
to beat down these defences, shrapnel having no effect. This was
proved in an assault made by the British on the Aubers Ridge.
A bombardment took place, but when the infantry arrived at the
trenches, they were found to be intact, and their occupants ready
to meet the attack. These facts were made known to the British
public by the military correspondent of The Times. The result was
the crisis to which reference has been made. The Government
was not overturned, but of its own accord offered itself to recon-
struction. Mr. Asquith remains as Premier, and Sir Edward Grey
at the Foreign Office. Of the twenty-two members the majority,
twelve in number, are Liberals, eight are Conservatives, made up of
the leading members of that party. There is one representative
of the Labor Party. Lord Kitchener also remains at the War
Office, but has no political bonds. A place in the Cabinet was
offered to the Nationalists, but Mr. Redmond thought it well not to
accept the offer. Thus in the tenth month of the war Great Britain
has done what France and Belgium did at the beginning: it has
formed a national government to meet a national emergency.
The fact that Lord Kitchener remains War Minister indicates
that he still retains the confidence of the country. The formation
of a new Ministry — that of Munitions — and the appointment of
Mr. Lloyd George to fill it, indicates that it has been found neces-
sary to relieve the War Minister of that part of his functions
which, through stress of work, he has been unable to accomplish.
The deficiency of shells is now the chief thing which stands in the
way of beginning that offensive movement against the Germans
which both the army and the people are so eager to make. The
change of Ministry has removed an obstacle that may have existed
at headquarters ; it has not, however, removed as yet every obstacle.
There still exists among some of the British workmen, and those
whose cooperation is most important, what has been called a spirit of
deadly complacency. Their general view is that the enemy is
already beaten. They have an unqualified contempt for the Ger-
mans, derived from their knowledge of the few they have happened
to meet. While the soldiers who have been in actual conflict in
556 RECENT EVENTS [July,
the trenches have full confidence, man for man, in their own
decisive superiority, the Englishman on the Tyne holds himself to
be equal to five Germans, while on the Clyde one Scotsman holds
himself to be equal to ten. " We have three million men, and they
are equal to twenty-three million Germans." Their boasting is
vain, especially as they fail to take into account the gjeat power
of the artillery, to say nothing of the poisonous gas which has
recently been adopted. This complacency has had the effect of
making the workingmen unwilling to consent to the relaxation of
restrictions upon work, which in the course of years have been
imposed by their trade unions, and which are looked upon as safe-
guards in the conflict between capital and labor. For instance, one
of the practices of piece-workers is to drag out an operation for
which they think they are getting too low a price, until it takes
twice or thrice as long as necessary. Even if such tactics are
legitimate under ordinary circumstances, when their effect is to
hinder the delivery of munitions necessary for success in war, they
become a danger to the nation. But these are, or at least were until
quite recently, the practices of the members of some, not however,
of all, of the trade unions, the members of which are earning double
and triple their ordinary wages. Nor is this all. Those men will
not only not work themselves, but they will not allow others to
work. The restrictions with regard to unskilled labor are, or were,
maintained in the workshops with unabated rigidity. Machines
are standing idle with men beside them willing to work, but
forbidden by the shop rules of their trade union. Such was the
state of things a few weeks ago on the Clyde. The acceptance
by Mr. Lloyd George of the Ministry of Munitions in the Coalition
Cabinet, with ample powers under the Defence of the Realm Acts,
will enable him to bring to an end by force, if not by good- will,
selfish procedure which is not only injurious to the country, but
a blot upon that democracy by which it is now governed ; proceedings
as selfish and as obnoxious as ever were those of feudal baron or
capitalist millionaire.
When Mr. Lloyd George declared that the country was waging
war with three enemies, Germany and Austria and Strong Drink,
and that the worst of these was the last, the advocates of total
prohibition were encouraged to think that a movement which has
made such progress in this country, to say nothing of France
and Russia, might at one step be brought to a complete triumph
in Great Britain. The Government, however, did not venture
even to propose so drastic a measure as the total suppression of
1915] RECENT EVENTS 55^
the making and selling of liquor. For one thing, the cost would
have been too great. No one thinks of taking such a step without
giving compensation on a more or less liberal scale. American
methods are looked upon as unjust and confiscatory. Moreover, so
many interests were involved, and so much opposition would have
been raised, that, in the midst of their many anxieties, ministers felt
unable to deal with so complicated a question. Moreover, it seems
to have been proved that Mr. Lloyd George's statement of the case
was considerably exaggerated. Hence the Government's proposals
fell considerably short of the expectations aroused. A heavy sur-
tax on spirits, and on the heavier kinds of beer, super-taxation
of wine, power to take over public houses in particular areas, and in
such areas complete suppression, with compensation — ^this was the
extent to which the Government went. Even to these comparatively
moderate proposals strong opposition was offered, especially by the
Irish members, an opposition so strong, indeed, as to force the
Government to make a great change in its plan. As finally passed,
the proposed surtaxes were abandoned; an act was passed estab-
lishing a Board for the Central Control of the Liquor Traffic. This
board is empowered to prescribe areas in which the sale of liquor
is either severely regulated or even completely suppressed; the
practice of treating is forbidden under penalties, and various other
regulations are made giving control to the authorities. The sale
of immature spirits is absolutely prohibited ; whiskey has to be kept
in bond for three years before it is offered for sale.
The extent to which the war has led to the exercise of control
by the State over business and the life of the people, affords
an interesting subject of speculation as to what will be the outcome
after the war is over. For many years this movement has been
growing stronger and stronger. It has resulted in old age pensions,
invalidity and unemployment insurance, the establishment of labor
exchanges, and minimum wages in certain trades. Since the war
began such ample provision has been made for the dependents of
those who have enlisted, that they are receiving more than when
the bread-winner was at work. It is not looked upon as possible
that a return should be made to the old conditions, especially as it
has become evident of what supreme importance is the cooperation
of the working classes both in the shops and in the army. A more
complete solidarite of hitherto divergent and almost hostile classes
must, it is thought, be one of the good things resultant from the
existent evils, among which will also be a more equitable distribution
of the burdens and of the rewards of the present life.
558 RECENT EVENTS [July,
Others entertain even higher expectations. They see in the
present war the destruction of all the materialistic conceptions of
life — that the nations which have avowedly as nations been living
for temporal well-being are now engaged in wantonly, for lack of
higher aims, destroying those very good things which had been the
supreme object of the life both of nations and individuals. The
war, in fact, has killed nineteenth century materialism; this is in
the process of committing suicide. Under such circumstances what
is to be done? The answer is, of course, that both nations and
individuals must place before themselves higher and more worthy
aims : that God, as revealed in Christ, must become really, and not
as a mere matter of profession, the practical rule and standard of
individual and national action.
Meanwhile, as a whole, the people of Great Britain are prac-
tically unanimous in their determination to continue the war to a
successful issue. There is, it is true, a section of the Socialists
known as the Independent Labor Party, whose attitude to the war
is so ambiguous as to render it impossible to define exactly where
it stands. It is more outspoken in the condemnation of secret
diplomacy and of militarism than ardent in support of those objects
for which the vast majority of their fellow-countrymen are com-
bined. At most, the adherents of this fraction of a section number
only some twenty thousand, and they have but little influence even
upon their brother Socialists. Here and there, it is said, workmen
may be heard to express indifference as well to the King's rule as to
the Kaiser's. But among some forty millions of people there must
be some who are not as wise as they should be. Of Ireland the
same must be said. Some few people there, according to the testi-
mony of Mr. William Redmond, are asking why Ireland should be
fighting in this war; but according to the same testimony, they
are very few indeed. The voice of Ireland on the way in which
Germany is carrying on the war is heard in the verdict of the jury
at the inquest on the victims of the Lusitania massacre. " This
appalling crime was contrary to international law and the conven-
tions of all civilized nations, and we, therefore, charge the officers
of the submarine and the Emperor and Government of Germany,
under whose orders they acted, with the crime of willful and whole-
sale murder before the tribunal of the civilized world." Writing
upon this verdict. The Month, which is the organ of the English
Jesuits, says : " We do not see how any moralist could do otherwise
than endorse the verdict passed by the Kinsale jury Rightly
did the Irish jury charge all concerned with this deed *with
1915] RECENT EVENTS 559
the crime of willful and wholesale murder before the tribvmal of
the civilized world' There is no question here of a mere
breach of international law : this abominable outrage, as well as the
killing of fisher-crews in smaller vessels, is a plain violation of the
law of God. No sophistry can obscure the fact, nor the guilt of
those, unless racial prejudice or ignorance excuse them, who rejoice
at it or attempt to palliate it."
In addition to labor troubles and the reorganization of the
Government, racing and " war babies " have engaged considerable
attention. The feeling against the continuance of races, frequented,
as they have been, by crowds of the usual type, and even going so far
as to interfere with the movements of troops, has become so strong
that the Government has at last intervened to stop them until
the end of the war The reports about the " war babies " have been
greatly exaggerated. The Registrar-General's Report shows that
there is no more than the normal percentage of illegitimate births.
Proposals made that these children should be adopted by the nation
were at once frowned down, as well as those for their legitimatiza-
tion. The religious sense of the nation was too strong.
The exact number of the troops raised by the voluntary system
is not known, as the Government has for some time been refusing
to give the exact figures. Lord Kitchener has, however, lately made
a call for three hundred thousand more men; about the securing
of them the general opinion is that there will be no difficulty.
There is, however, a movement more or less strong in favor of
compulsory service of some kind, not necessarily conscription. Even
some of the working classes are its advocates. There are many who
hesitate to take the responsibility of offering themselves, but who
would respond gladly to the call of the Government if it gave them
clearly to understand that the country stood in need of their help.
There are also shirkers and idlers who outrage the feelings of the
wiser and saner part of the community, among whom the desire is
growing to send them off, whether they like it or not. If it is true,
as has lately been asserted, that the last reserves of the French have
been sent to the front, consisting of raw youths in their teens.
Great Britain will be called upon to supply reenforcements to the
French army, or to undertake the defence of a larger part of the
lines in the West.
No change has taken place in the determina-
France. tion of the French to carry on the war to a
successful issue, nor yet in their confidence
in the ultimate attainment of that result. The Government remains
56o RECENT EVENTS [July,
unchanged in personnel, except that the organization of the supply
of munitions has been entrusted to a member of the Socialist Party,
who has been made Under-Secretary of State for War. Priests
are serving in the trenches, and are treated with perfect courtesy by
the officers and their fellow-soldiers Other priests devoted exclu-
sively to their ministry, find the revival of the religious spirit so
marked that their mind is thrown back to the times of the primitive
Church, and to the Christian fervor then existing. The number of
returns to the Faith is very large. Men are praying openly and
in secret. So much is this the case as to g^ve well-grounded hopes
that the nation is being led back to our Saviour.
Into the national life, at all events, there are those who foresee
the advent of a new and incalculable element — the purified will of
millions of men who have faced death, and have in this way learned
to distinguish the spurious from the real. A new world, different
from that which existed before the war, a more spiritual, less
materialistic, more honest and nobler world is looked upon as at
hand. While the first and foremost thought of every Frenchman,
civilian as well as soldier, is to free France from the blighting
presence of the invader, the next thought of each and all is to
extirpate the foe within. Loathing of political intrigue and
corruption is almost as strong as that which is felt for the Ger-
mans. Combined with this loathing there exists a profound distrust
of politicians who are merely politicians. In the army and in its
head, General Joffre, the utmost confidence is reposed, as well as in
Great Britain as an ally.
The visit paid to Paris by an Irish Nationalist delegation,
including representatives of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, has
strengthened the bonds which have so long existed between France
and Ireland. The delegates were received by President Poincare
and Cardinal Amette, the Archbishop of Paris, to each of whc«n
they presented an address, which recalled the old friendship between
the Catholics of Ireland and France, and expressed the deep sym-
pathy and affection felt by Irishmen for the French in the afflictions
of this war, and the joy that they should be fighting side by side
in the cause of liberty. It is needless to say that the President
and the Cardinal replied in the most cordial and appreciative terms.
The financial ability of France to fight on is equal to the
national determination. Arrangements have been made with Great
Britain which will enable the resources of that country to be brought
into cooperation with those of France. The expenses are enormous,
but as Germans have already announced to the world the amount
1915] RECENT EVENTS 561
of the indemnity which they are going to demand for the services
they have rendered, it has been made clear that any amount the
war may cost, if victorious, will be less than what the Germans will
ask for in the event of their victory ; especially as in the case of the
success of the Allies, Germany will be called upon to pay at least
a portion of the expenditure. There is, therefore, no reason to
hesitate on account of the expense.
All reports from Germany indicate that the
Germany. Germans have still complete confidence in
the success of their arms. If anything, they
are now more confident than at any period since the war began.
There have been periods of doubt and hesitancy. The failure to
reach Paris had a chastening eflFect, which was deepened by the
failure to reach Calais. During the winter the outlook was some-
what gloomy. The victories over the Russians in Galicia have,
however, made all Germans so sure that they will win, that it is
no longer a matter of discussion. They have immense supplies
of ammunition, and no longer any anxiety about the food supply.
Even the entrance of Italy into the conflict has scarcely shaken this
confidence. Their will to believe that they will conquer is as strong
as their will to conquer, and is perhaps the most important ground
for the latter. The one thing which causes hesitation in accepting
as quite genuine the confidence which Germans express about the
result of the war, is the fact that the various rumors about peace,
and the terms on which it may be possible, emanate not from the
Allies, but from sources friendly to Germany, if not German. These
rumors are of little importance, but may serve as straws to show
the way the wind is blowing. They may, however, be part of
an astute plan to throw odium on the Allies.
An entirely new phenomenon has appeared over the German
horizon — reverence and respect for scraps of paper. Italy is being
vituperated far and wide for an alleged violation of the treaties
which constituted the Triple Alliance. "Unheard-of perfidy" is one
of the mildest terms used by the violators of Belgium's neutrality,
although whatever the terms of these treaties may have been, they
had been denounced weeks before Italy declared war on Austria-
Hungary.
The application of any high standard of
Italy. international conduct to Italy would be alto-
gether out of place. For centuries most of
VOL. a.— 36
562 RECENT EVENTS [July,
the various states of which the Kingdom consists have been the
victims of the foreign violators of their right to independence and
self-government, and it was only by a free use of chicanery and
intrigue that they obtained their freedom. The main cause of the
war is the determination of the people of Italy to complete the
liberation of Italians still subject to the Austrian yoke. It is not
from this to be inferred that in declaring war against Austria, any
right of the latter State under the terms of the Triple Alliance was
violated. All who have studied the origin of this war, know that
its outbreak was due to the threatened aggression of the Dual-
Monarchy upon the independence of Servia. In Italy's opinion this
freed her from any obligation to act with the aggressors, and justi-
fied her in her maintenance of neutrality. But it is hard to see how
it became right to seek for compensations for refraining from
taking part in an unjust deed. The right thing for her to have
done would have been to have actively opposed the wrongdoing
from the very beginning, and not to have been willing to share in
the wages of iniquity in the event of the wrongdoers being willing
to make satisfactory terms. This, however, is to exact too much of
the kingdoms of this world.
No one, as the event has proved, can accuse Italy of having
waited to come in on the certainly winning side. The Allies are,
of course, convinced of the ultimate result of the war, but Italy has
entered during the period when Germany was in the full current
of her victories over Russia in Galicia. Since her entrance she
has become a party to the compact not to end the war except with
the full concurrence of the three Allied Powers — Russia, France,
and Great Britain. Italy's entry into the war is due more to the
people than to the Government, the official Socialists being the only
party that opposed. Although the liberation of their fellow-coun-
trymen is the determining cause of the war, the wrongs inflicted by
the Germans on the Belgians contributed in no small degree to the
result, the more so as German agents, with their characteristic lack
of insight into the minds of other people, were so maladroit as to
threaten a like method of frightfulness in the event of a suc-
cessful invasion of Italy, which they of course take for granted.
The disregard of agreement, which has now become habitual, con-
tributed in some degree to the result, for no confidence was felt in
the faithful execution of the promises made by Austria-Hungary,
or of the guarantee given by Germany.
With Our Readers.
THE papers contributed to our pages on the subject of " Progress "
by Dr. Shanahan, considering the discussions that occupy the
public platform of the day, are of exceptional timeliness. It is unques-
tionable that many of the leaders of what is called modem thought have
wandered far from the truth in their definition of progress ; that such
false definition has been accepted by the millions and has in turn put
their entire standard of values out of joint with the real purpose and
value of life. Progress has been viewed as a sort of necessary law,
as a thing to which humankind inevitably tends, and no age has been
more loud-voiced in claiming its possession than our own. But it has
been roused to something like an examination of conscience by the
European War.
This much is encouraging — ^the complacency of those who con-
sidered religious belief an insignificant element has been seriously dis-
turbed, and in part they are seeing the gross falsity of their theories.
4t ♦ ♦ ♦
AMONG the public discussions on the subject of progress was a
notable symposium of lectures and discussions held in Chicago
under the auspices of the City Qub. The reports say it was well
attended by persons from every walk of life, and that men and women,
old and young, from six o'clock till after ten, with but forty minutes
intermission, followed the discussions attentively. Professor John
Dewey, one of the three principal speakers, stated that there is
abundant cause for pessimism in the world-situation to-day: yet, he
added, if the right lesson were drawn from the catastrophe the price
would be none too high. The fault of the past is that we cherished
illusions and false notions of progress. We defined it as change and
novelty. We assumed that material prosperity, applied science, inven-
tion and technical improvement mean human advance all along the
line. We assumed that opportunity for achievement somehow guar-
antees achievement; that resources, if sufficient, will conserve and
utilize themselves for noble ends and purposes. We even believed
progress to be automatic; that, as some thinkers put it, it is a law
of our very being, that man is necessarily a progressing animal.
4t ♦ ♦ ♦
THE truth is, as Professor Dewey puts it, that progress is a retail
job — a job to be planned, contrived and worked out. Man is ca-
pable of progress, but he can have it only if he works hard for it.
Progress is a matter of intelligence, vigorously applied to the problem
S64 tVITH OUR READERS [July,
and task of progress. Progress is not a matter of emotion : it cannot
be achieved by eloquently appealing for altruism as against egoism.
Man may be altruistic, but his altruism must be won by intelligent mo-
tives and reasons. Man is also selfish and predatory enough to be at
war incessantly with his fellows, if we are short-sighted or careless
enough to neglect the systematic cultivation of the conditions of
progress. If we want peace, we must create the right kind of peace
agencies and peace machinery. If we aim at certain results in char-
acter or conduct, we must steadily keep those results in view, and study
the ways and means of attaining them, and of holding them once
we have them. We are reaping the fruits of shallow thinking and
indolence. We can have peace, we can have justice; we can have
a moral order, we can have beauty in our social life. We have not
desired these things ardently, nor striven for them earnestly. As will
be seen. Dr. Dewey's words follow very closely the principles laid
down in Dr. Shanahan's articles.
4t ♦ ♦ 4t
ANOTHER speaker at this meeting, Professor J. H. Hollander,
confined himself entirely to the question of industrial progress.
One cannot but feel he should have been ruled out of order, not
because he did not say things well worth listening to, but because
the discussion of industrial progress is not, properly speaking, a dis-
cussion of progress. Progress must concern the whole man, and the
highest welfare of the entire human race, as far as we can measure
or forecast it. Industrial progress affects the question only indirectly ;
for an unprecedented industrial progress may be a very real
and a very strong enemy to human progress, as the history
of the last one hundred years unquestionably proves. The betterment
of social-economic conditions is the concern of every lover of progress,
but he seeks to better them, not because such betterment is the inevitable
road to progress, but because it is a condition that will enable those
who have the good will to be better men and women. Trade
unions, minimum wage laws, vocational training will surely do much
to bring about justice and equality upon earth; but it is far too
much to say, nor should an economist be interpreted as meaning,
that such agencies will eradicate the more distressing and
degrading ills of modem society. The most degrading ill of modem
society, the one from which springs its gross neglect of human
rights, is the sinful indifference of the times to the Commandments
of God. Practical atheism, a strong and terrible phrase, is not as
absent from our age as many are inclined to think.
Canon Barry said very recently: "In the most enlightened age
since civilization began, man has forgotten God. The world has denied
its Creator. Tlie nineteenth century, into which most of us now living
1915] fVITH OUR READERS 565
were born, put God aside. Some men were atheists, more were
agnostics; millions upon millions did not care whether God was or
was not, whether they themselves were more than machines doomed like
the beasts to perish, whether right diflfered from wrong, except in name.
Profit and pleasure were the only things worth seeking; heaven and
hell were fairy tales. Such has been the great deadly sin of modem
nations, with its consequences clear as the sun. Luxury and frivolity,
moral decay, an infected society, an art and literature abounding in
shameful fancies, a world on the down grade."
♦ ♦ * 4t
IN his contribution to this symposium. Dr. James Henry Richard-
son, the historian, did not seem to care "whether God existed
or not." Civilization and progress are matters entirely human.
Investigation ; experience ; reasoning ; untrammelled by any authority
or tradition, have enabled us to make wonderful progress during the
last two hundred years in industry and material existence. We should
seize these same methods and apply them to every other sphere —
the moral and religious included. Why permit authority, tradition, and
crude superficial conceptions of other men and times, to dominate our
thought and action to-day? "We can insure a steady upward and
onward trend by carrying the methods of exact science and efficient
industry into the realms of social and moral relations."
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
FVR. ROBERTSON'S words are very similar to those of the Uni-
-L/ tarian. Dr. Holmes of New York, who speaking before the Free
Religious Association in Boston said : " The coming religion will be
essentially scientific. All dogmatism will go. Sacraments and ritual
will vanish. It is not faith but character that is the vital essential —
not what a man thinks, but what he is that will count." The criticism
to be offered on this is that all educators without exception tell us
that a man is what he thinks.
♦ ♦ * 4t
A FURTHER and much happier discussion of progress is contained
in a small volume entitled Whither? Its contents appeared first
in the pages of The Atlantic Monthly, and are now published in book
form, still anonymously. The aim and purpose of the author are
beyond praise — an endeavor to recall the millions from materialism
and irreligion to a spiritual view of life and eternity. " Our fore-
fathers," says the author, " had religious faith ; they thought and felt
in terms of the spirit. The whole emphasis of life has since changed.
The modern world thinks and lives and speaks in terms of the body,
not of mind and soul. Physical power has become the sole measure
of man's efficiency. Images of perfect bodily development are kept
S66 WITH OUR READERS [July,
before the young — the Apollo with beauty of sinew and muscle ; but
the face of the Christ is growing ever more and more dim before our
eyes, and is more and more apologetically presented, if presented at all."
The greatest mistake of the present age is its ignoring of the
best in the past — ^the faith that has sustained human life from genera-
tion to generation. Science, " the great intellectual adventure of the
last century," has profited us nothing with regard to origin and duty
and destiny. " It has not gained by one hair's breadth upon the
encompassing mystery of our lives."
♦ * ♦ 4t
AS an earnest, passionate plea for men to turn from the crass material-
ism of the age to spiritual truths, the volume is deserving of
hearty welcome. The loftiness of its aims makes us the more loatfi to
speak of its too evident shortcomings. The failure of the author to
g^ve an effective and appealing message is due to the fact that, while
he appeals for a recognition of Christianity, he empties Christianity of
all definite meaning. It is puzzling, to say the least, that one should
recognize so fully the value of the definite faith of his forefathers;
preach its fruits in their lives ; implore that the same fruits should be
cultivated to-day, and yet decry the soil and the nourishment that made
such fruit possible. The author deplores dreary positivism, and yet
he sums up the central tenets of the Christian faith as follows:
" The universe is a universe of spirit controlled by a great spiritual
force for great ends; that for the guidance of stumbling humanity
the great spiritual force took human form; that mere human beings,
keeping mind and soul intent upon that great example, may work out,
through love and sacrifice, immortal meanings in their lives." Frederic
Harrison, it seems to us, would enthusiastically subscribe to such a
profession of faith.
4t ♦ ♦ ♦
AGAIN, in the summary of the faith of his forefathers, there is not
one word of Christ. Indeed this laudable efifort to recall men to
better things is defaced by shallow thinking, by lamentable insufficiency.
The office of man's intelligence is degraded; he is at his best as
an emotional and imaginative being. " Imagination, that power
through which alone creative work is done, forever shapes fairer and
fairer conceptions." Reason and reasonable truth have a secondary
function. The concept of the Christian faith is humanitarian and
naturalistic. That God has revealed definite truths to us which we
are to accept because they are His word, and by them direct our life,
does not enter essentially into his concept of the Christian faith.
Dogma is therefore unimportant : rather a hindrance than a help.
Such an estimate of dogma is of course utterly at variance with the
Catholic concept. Non-Catholics have learned to be impatient with
1915] lyiTH OUR READERS 567
what they call dogma, because with them it has pretended to a
claim which it never had. If there be no infallible church, that
is, no church with a visible authority, commissioned by God Himself
to speak infallibly — and protected by Him in such speaking on every
matter of revealed faith — then there is no such thing as dogma, and
the Protestant justly grows impatient and intolerant when his church
pronounces any teaching to be a dogma. Such a church claims no
infallibility, and therefore it has no right to impose upon the mind
of man, as infallible truth, any statement or teaching.
THAT it has attempted to do so is, of course, unquestionable. And
because it has attempted it without even claiming the possession
of that which alone would give it the right to do so, its children
have seen the inconsistency of the proceeding and have rebelled.
No reasonable man will accept as d(^;matic the decision of a
fallible body; and particularly when that body admits its fallibility.
The course of Protestant churches in declaring creeds and definitions,
and endeavoring to impose them upon their members, was unwarranted
from the beginning. The realization of this is being more and more
widely recognized. Dogma to the Protestant mind is, therefore,
traditionally, the merely human judgment of a number of well-meaning
divines, in convention assembled, on a question of Christian belief.
There is nothing final or ultimate or certain about the judgment:
it is purely human, beginning and ending with men.
♦ ♦ ♦ 4t
TO the Catholic, dogma is the truth not of man but of God. It
comes not from men, nor from hiunan wisdom, but from God.
Men are the instrtunents of its declaration: human wisdom may be a
condition, an element that has led to its declaration, but over the
human representative, and above human wisdom, God directs and
preserves and guides infallibly. Christ is God, and when Christ
spoke and taught men He spoke with divine authority and divine
wisdom. Upon the acceptance of His definite teaching depended
for His hearers their own personal eternal life : " I am come a light
into the world ; that whosoever believeth in Me, may not remain in
darkness " (John xii. 46) ; " Now this is eternal life : that they may
know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, Whom Thou hast
sent" (Johnxvii. 3).
And Christ bestowed upon His Church the same power and
authority which He Himself claimed and exercised : " He that heareth
you (His Church) heareth Me: and he that despiseth you, despiseth
Me. And he that despiseth Me, despiseth Him that sent Me" (Luke
X. 16).
568 JVITH OUR READERS [July,
CHRIST made this unique claim because He taught the definite
truth of God, which truth the intellect of man ought to rejoice
in accepting, and the will of fnan ought to follow at every cost with
filial loyalty.
The Catholic Church, bedause it is the Church of Jesus Christ,
makes the same claims. He delivered His truth, upon which de-
pends the eternal life of man, to the Church which He founded,
to preserve it and to deliver it to every generation of mankind.
He did not leave us orphans ; He left to us, infallibly protected, the
truth that would unite our souls to Gk)d the Father in eternal life.
The dogmas of the Catholic Church are not, therefore, fanciful
human inventions, constructions or interpretations. Its dogmas are the
word of God, which it is able to know and declare through the power
of the Holy Spirit, the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity, Whom
Christ, our Lord, sent to dwell with the Church and keep it from error
even until the consummation of the world. " The Paraclete, the
Holy Ghost, Whom the Father will send in My name. He will teach
you all things, and bring all things to your mind, whatsoever I shall
have said to you " (John xiv. 26).
a|c a|c 3|e 4t
GOD alone is the Life of the soul. The heart knows no rest
nor peace, nor guidance, till it rests in Him. But it can never
rest in Him until it knows Him and its relations with Him. It is
but insulting the intelligence of man and plunging humankind into
deeper and deeper darkness to obscure our needs by generalities, by
making God synonymous with a great spiritual force and man's
relations and duties to Him no clearer than a general, emotional good
will. If such be all we know of God, we will eventually know nothing.
If God has never spoken to us in definite language that the mind can
accept; if God has given us no definite laws that will in a practical,
concrete, everyday way guide our life, then God as a positive factor
in conduct and discipline will disappear from our life.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
rmake no act of faith in dogma itself, but in dogma because
it is revealed by God. And the soul that cannot make its act of
faith in dogma, cannot make its act of faith in God. That is why
the denial of a definite dogmatic Christian faith leads to wider and
wider denial ; why the questioning of infallible authority in Christian
teaching means ultimately the questioning of all authority ; why doubt
about the definite message of Jesus Christ leads to doubt about the
definite message of God; why the questioning of one dogma soon
broadens out into the highway to atheism, for we believe in all and
every dogma for one sole reason — the one support for each and all —
God Who has revealed them.
1915.) if^ITH OUR READERS 569
THE National Women's Trade Union League of America held its
Fifth Biennial Convention in New York, June 7th to nth, inclu-
sive. Except for executive sessions, the meetings were open to the
press and public, and until Friday were held at the headquarters of the
New York Women's Trade Union League, 43 East Twenty-second
Street. On Friday and Saturday, the League convened in the more
commodious Assembly Hall of the Y. W. C. A. Training School, Lex-
ington Avenue and Fifty-second Street, where the delegates were
housed. In welcoming the visiting women, the President of the New
York League deplored the inadequacy of their present home, and this
Convention saw the financial beginning of a Labor Temple for the
New York League.
The work of the Women's Trade Union League, as set forth
in its monthly organ, Life and Labor, is to organize all women workers
into trade unions to be affiliated with the American Federation
of Labor. The ninety-one delegates to this Convention represented one
hundred thousand working women from many industries and of many
nationalities, of all classes, and from diflferent sections of our country.
♦ ♦ ♦ 4t
THE President of this organization, Mrs. Raymond Robins, of
Chicago, in her opening address, gave a comprehensive outline
of the work, and touched upon certain phases of the labor problem
which, sooner or later, must be solved for the woman worker. She
noted the three needs of any great consolidated movement: organiza-
tion, l^slation, and education — since there are yet many thousand
women and girls in our sweated industries. Space forbids seriatim
comment upon this thoughtful speech, or dwelling at length upon the
many suggestive resolutions and reports of committees. It is a note-
worthy fact of this Convention that the committees were representative
of many points of view, and the manner in which the presiding officer
brought out these differences, made for sincere and temperate discus-
sion from the floor.
The legislative programme is broad but not visionary. The Trade
Union women, since their organization in 1903, have been quick to
understand the alliance between laws and labor conditions, and have
always stood for Woman's Suffrage. This Convention passed a resolu-
tion calling upon men workers in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania,
and Massachusetts to vote and work for the suffrage amendment. The
Chairman of the Votes for Women Committee is a Catholic woman,
who received a Civics Scholarship from the Wage Workers Suffrage
League, and is well posted on political conditions in Chicago and
Illinois. From this experience she offered the suggestion to the New
York women that all women eligible for citizenship should not delay to
secure their naturalization papers.
576 tVITti OUR READERS [July,
THE discussion on the Minimum Wage, another tenet of the national
organization's platform, was peculiarly interesting. In Missouri
nothing has been done regarding this law, because prohibition has been
made the chief issue. In Illinois the women are hopeful of the passage
of the Minimum Wage Bill. The practical working of this law has
shown varying results. The minimvun has become, in certain instances,
the maximum, and in others it shows better results, and is considered
a useful means for promoting organization work. It was, therefore,
decided that active propaganda for such a law should be left optional
to Local Leagues, since only the local organization was qualified to
know local conditions.
IN the educational field, the spread of Trade Union principles is
advocated through teaching in the public schools. It was also
recommended that vocational training be made co-educational, and that
graduates be placed where Trade Union conditions prevail. It will
interest Catholic readers to know that a Catholic woman, who is Presi-
dent of the Chicago League and President of the International Glove
Workers, holds President Wilson's appointment as one of the nine
persons serving on the Commission on National Aid to Vocational
Training — the first woman worker ever so honored.
THE President's plans, outlined at the last biennial, for the training
of the Trade Union woman worker for future work in the cause of
labor, or as future organizer for the National League, have since
been successfully carried out in the case of three young women. One
of these is a Catholic from Kansas City, Missouri. Further work
of this kind is now hampered by lack of funds, due to the widespread
industrial depression. Further developed, this educational idea would
support and release from work for one year those women who show
this sort of ability, who are properly accredited by their local or
central bodies, or who, if applying personally, must be self-supporting
for that time. This course would be partly academic and partly
practical, with active field work included. In the small banning
which was made, lectures were given by both men and women prom-
inent in the labor movement, and who constitute the faculty and
lecturers of the National Training School. The University of Chicago
and the Northwestern University at Evanston cooperated by permitting
free access to lecture courses in economics and modem labor problems,
and several individual teachers helped in English and other necessary
studies. A class in public speaking was attended by about thirty
Trade Union women resident in Chicago. The Chicago Local League
1915] ll'iTH OUR READERS 571
has a library of a thousand volumes at the service of the national
organization for this and other work, while the Chicago Public Library
has offered, provided a week's notice is given, to furnish any book in
any language. The entire discussion of the report of the Committee
on Education was of great interest and suggestiveness. Mention was
made of the women's colleges in England that turned over their build-
ings for Trade Union work in the long vacations. The education of
women workers who are in seasonal trades was considered. The Rand
School of Social Science ofifered a course in New York for the low
price of fifteen dollars for five months, and asked to cooperate with
this national training plan by local work here. This proposal was
declined for the reason that the national organization, through its
faculty, must keep in close touch with any student being trained, and,
since national headquarters are in Chicago, the work would better be
carried on there.
The Convention pledged itself to work towards the achievement
of international peace, and towards abolishing secret treaties. It
promised more strenuous support to increase the circulation of Life
and Labor, as in this way only have organized working women been
enabled to reach the public.
Notable addresses before the Convention were made by Samuel
G<Mnpers and Hugh Frayne, of the American Federation of Labor;
by A. P. Bowers, of the Pennsylvania State Federation of Labor; by
J. E. Williams, of the Miners' Arbitration Board ; by Andrew Furuseth,
whose twenty-one years of work for the seamen has met recently with
some success; by Josephine Goldmark of the Consumers' League,
and by Leonora O'Reilly, who as the New York Women's Trade
Union delegate to The Hague Peace Conference, gave a vivid account
of the convening of over thirteen hundred women from warring and
neutral countries to work for peace. There were also a nimiber of
short addresses from religious, political or union bodies, who sent
fraternal delegates, Miss Dodge speaking for the National Young
Women's Christian Association, and Miss Holmquist for the Federated
Council of the Church of Christ, the Protestant denominations.
IT was a subject of expressed regret by the many Catholic Trade
Union delegates to the Convention — ^and it must be borne in mind
that Catholic women, beside holding many important offices in the
national organization, are presidents of five out of the nine Local
Leagues — that no Catholic woman present was empowered to speak,
and that none of our many women's organizations sent either greetings
or fraternal delegates. The next biennial of the National Women's
Trade Union League of America will convene in Kansas City, Missouri.
572 IVITH OUR READERS [July,
TO those critics who are forever exalting the State as a power before
which everything and everybody must bow, as a power which is
the arbitrator of morals and the master of almost everything in
life, we respectfully commend the notable words of Ex-Senator Elihu
Root speaking of the anniversary of Magna Charta. " That charter,"
said Mr. Root, " asserted the principles of human liberty upon which
rests the development of the freedom of the world. It did not ask for,
it asserted the rights of Englishmen against their government and
superior to their government. Nearly six hundred years later the
sons of these Englishmen crystallized that declaration in the Declara-
tion of Independence as the inalienable right of man, to secure which
governments are created.
" The charter was not a g^ft of privilege by a monarch. It was
an assertion of rights by men willing to fight for their rights and die
for them, and during all these seven hundred years the men to whom
this great charter of liberty was granted have been willing to fight
for their liberties and to die for them.
"There are but two underlying theories of man in the social
relation to the State. One is the theory of the ancient republic under
which the State is the starting point from which rights are decided,
and the individual holds rights only as a member of the State. That
was the theory of Greece and Rome and the Italian republics. The
other is the theory of the Great Charter, the Habeas Corpus Act,
the Statute of Treasons, the Petition of Right, the Bill of Rights, the
Massachusetts Body of Liberties, and the Declaration of Independence
of the American Republic, that the individual has inalienable rights
of which no government may deprive him, but to secure which all
government exists."
♦ ♦ . ♦ «
IF anyone were asked what organization, what body of citizens,
has kept alive the tradition and the championship of such rights ;
what institution has preached in season and out of season that the
individual has rights which every government is obliged to respect;
claimed, for example, for the individual, the right of liberty of con-
science and full exercise of religious belief ; claimed that the family is
not to be made and unmade by State law, he would answer at once:
The Catholic Church.
We have often wondered why many non-Catholic journals can,
at times, make themselves the constructive instruments of tyranny,
the betrayers of the rights which our forefathers held so dear, when
they condemn Catholics and even charge them with lack of patriotism,
because Catholics dare assert that there are rights above government;
duties and obligations with which no government may interfere, and
which, in turn, are the only safe foundation of a free people.
1915] ^yITH OUR READERS 573
THE selection of the notorious Sir Edward Carson as Attorney-
General in the new British Cabinet is resented by every lover of
justice and of fair play. The present British Government in making
such a selection has been guilty of a great blunder^ and has made
heavier its already heavy task. The only redeeming excuse for it
which we have heard, is that such an appointment shows Germany
how all parties in Great Britain are united in their determination to
push the war vigorously. If this were the reason of the appointment,
the price paid for such an assurance runs dangerously high, and the
one who profits most is the man who made the payment necessary.
The choice of the British Government in thk instance was, we feel, a
needless insult to the people and the friends of Ireland. The career
of Sir Edward Carson is well-known to our readers, and there is no
need to review it here. The Christian World, a Protestant and
Liberal journal of England, tells how Carson ** has stood durii^ the
last few years for open defiance of constituted authority. Yet he is
now a law officer of the Crown. He has gloried in being a rebel, and
he has preached rebellion. It may be, and probably is, that the
Unionists insisted on his inclusion as the price of their support, but
it would have been better for the internal peace of the land not to
have offended the public sentiment of the larger part of the nation
in this way."
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
THE Catholic Times of Liverpool says editorially, "The appoint-
ment is a scandal. It ought to be cancelled. While he (Carson)
holds the post, all persecution of sedition and rebellion is a farce and
an outrage on fair play." In a contributed article "Home Ruler"
writes :
Sir Edward Carson's appointment to the Attorney-Generalship, with a
seat in the Cabinet, reduces Mr. Asquith's call for a Coalition Ministry to a
problem of contemporary politics. Who could have forced him to accept such a
man for such a post? I hope I am as patriotic as any Englishman; I certainly
would keep up the war at any and every cost till victory is won. I shrink from
any thought of industrial and social progress gained by sword or bayonet, shot
or shell, trench work or street-fighting; I would have reform come by due
and orderly process of law. But there is Sir Edward Carson, the embodiment
of a principle which, if adopted by the masses of the toilers, would secure
reform by force!
At the present moment there are thousands of armed men in Ulster who
look to him as their leader, and who proclaim their determination to oppose
the Home Rule Act, now on the Statute Book, with every means at their hand.
While other soldiers go abroad to fight Germany, these Orange warriors remain
at home in case they be wanted to fight Great Britain. An amazing spectacle!
And yet quite a tame thing compared with the appointment of their chief. Sir
Edward Carson, to the post of Attorney-General. If there was one man in the
United Kingdom to whom such an office should not have been given, it was
Sir Edward Carson. That he should have been made Attorney-General, and
574 ^yiTH OUR READERS [July,
Mr. F. R Smith, Solicitor-General, is enough to cover the Coalition Government
with contempt from all law-abiding, decent-minded citizens.
Mr. Asquith must have been brought very low before he consented to
nominate Sir Edward Carson and Mr. F. R Smith to the posts they now occupy.
He must have been as a lath in the hands of the Tories. For he must have
known that these two appointments would disgust all his Liberal followers,
as they would rejoice all the lawless elements in the country.
Sir Edward Carson's new honor is no honor to Mr. Asquith or to Mr.
Bonar Law, to the Liberal Party or to the Tory Party. It is no benefit to the
Coalition Government It will prove to be no benefit to the country. Law
should be examplq as well as precept
Last week I regretted that Mr. John Redmond could not see his way to
join the Coalition Ministry. Now I am glad he could not Before Sir Edward
Carson was appointed, Mr. Redmond decided to stand aloof. After it, we can
rejoice that he did so. Ireland has been lucky as well as wise this time. But
Ireland must henceforth look to herself: she will get only what she can take
and hold. Home Rule is less at this moment than a mere scrap of paper.
It may have to be fought for and won all over again. Sir Edward Carson in
the British Cabinet does not bring nearer an Irish Parliament on College Green.
No vigilance on the part of Irishmen can be too close nor too careful. All the
promises to them are conditioned by the end of the war; and at the end of
the war there may be not a Liberal left with the conviction or the courage
to perform what they promised.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
THE able correspondent H. W. H. of the New York Evening Post,
calls the appointment "an offence against common decency."
" There is not the slightest doubt," he continues, " that Sir Edward
Carson's manoeuvres in Ulster last year would have secured his con-
viction under the Treason Felony Act of 1848 if the Government had
had the courage to put him in the dock. It is announced to-day
that he has been appointed Chief Law Officer of the Crown. One of
the chief functions of his new office will be to conduct, on behalf of
the Government, all important prosecutions for treason and sedition.
No step could possibly have been taken that was more likely to bring
the whole administration of the law into contempt. And this at a time
when the unusual powers given to the authorities by the Defence of
the Realm Acts make it especially desirable that those who are charged
with setting the law in motion with regard to public offences shall
possess the confidence of the whole country."
The Irish Nationalists were successful in securing the appoint-
ment of Ignatius John O'Brien as Lord Chancellor for Ireland.
FOLLOWING close upon the heels of our own celebration, comes
the golden jubilee of our esteemed contemporary, The Ave Maria.
The Catholic World extends to The Ave Maria, and its veteran
Editor, Father Hudson, its heartfelt congratulations upon the accom-
plishments of a half-hundred years of fruitful toil in the patient and
hidden apostolate of the press.
1915I BOOKS R^CMIVED 57$
For fifty long years The Ave Maria has been a sane and helpful
influence to Catholic thought and Catholic life. It has sown broadcast
through our beloved land, with a free and generous hand, the seeds
of Catholic truth, and of Catholic beauty, of devotion to Our Lady,
of loyalty to Christ and His Church. The harvest, by God's grace,
has been great. Although the sower may never see to the full the
"golden sheaves, nor small, nor few," we trust The Ave Maria will
be blessed upon its anniversary with widespread appreciation and
many good wishes. May it live to deepen and extend its influence,
and to count its years not by decades but by centuries!
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Pioneer Laymen of North America, By Rev. T. J. Campbell, SJ. Vol. I.
$1.75. Dante's 650th Birthday; Magna Charta's Centenary, Pamphlets.
5 cents.
Christian Press Association, New York:
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A Far Country, By Winston Churchill. $1.50. The Ideal Catholic Readers:
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57^
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The Book of the Serpent. By K. Howard. $i.oo net. Love's Creed, and
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Cainioib Endowment for International Peace, Washington, D. C. :
Twenty Pamphlets on Peace.
Government Printing Office, Washington:
Report on the Work of the Bureau of Education for the Natives of Alaska,
1912-13. A Dictionary of the Choctaw Language, By C. Byington.
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Dramatic Poems — Songs and Sonnets. By Donald Robertson. $2.00.
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THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
Vol. CI.
AUGUST, 191 5.
No. 605.
THE SACRISTANS.
BY JOHN AYSCOUGH.
I.
HE two churches faced each other, with the open
space of the Naumachia between them, in the midst
of which was the stone ship, like the one in the
Piazza di Spagna at Rome, that gave the place its
name.
Santa Venera is a very old place, much older than its name,
unless they are right who declare that no such Christian saint ever
existed as Venera, and that the name is simply a variant of venere,
and nothing more nor less than the Italian form of the name of the
goddess of love. These people maintain that the hill-town of Aphro-
disia stood on this site, and that the church of Santa Venera, in the
Naumachia, was a temple of Aphrodite seven hundred years before
Christianity had any martyrs. Anyway, the place is admittedly an
ancient Greek colony, founded from Colchis, a year or two later than
Syracuse. And enthusiasts affirm that the people have Greek
faces still, and that their speech is thickly strewn with hellenisms.
Throughout Sicily, we are constantly told, there are three strongly-
marked types: the Punic, the Greek, the Saracenic; and Santa
Venera is in the heart of the Greek sphere.
In all the world no place can be more exquisitely hung between
the mountains and the sea — the Ionian sea, where gods sailed and
heroes who were the sons of gods. It is not half a mile inland.
Copyright. 19 1 5.
Thb Missionary Society op St. Paul the Apostlb
IN THE State op New York.
VOL. Ci.—y7
578 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
but a thousand feet above the saffron belt of shore ; and from the
Naumachia all the mountain gorges of Calabria, across the strait,
are mysteriously visible. No one could believe those are real moun-
tains, lying disclosed, yet veiled, in the light of which our poet sang,
such a light as surely, elsewhere, never was on sea or land.
Maso was the sacristan of Santa Venera, and Tito the sacristan
of the Pieta ; and their churches faced each other. Both had been
temples, and in both the old heathen columns had been built into
the Christian walls. Maso's church was much the bigger; it was in
fact the cathedral, for Santa Venera has a bishop; all the same it
was quite a small building, much smaller than any parish church in
all Northamptonshire. But Tito's was more fashionable, and, as a
consequence, much smarter. One side-altar in the Pieta possessed
more artificial flowers than the whole of Santa Venera could boast
of, including the high altar; and such facts as these Tito was
studious to impress on Maso's recollection.
Tito was, naturally, much better off than Maso : and he liked
to show it. Maso got very little beyond his wages, and they were
only ten scudi a month — for the church in those parts still keeps
its accounts in scudi, though such a coin has not existed for half a
century. Only the priests belonging to the church ever said Mass
at Santa Venera, and they simply looked on Maso as their own
servant ; of course they never tipped him.
But several " congregations " were established in the Pieta,
such as the Figlie di Maria, and the Santissimi Cuori. And Tito
drew a pleasing revenue from each of them. Moreover, the Ma-
donna of the Pieta was miraculous, and plenty of tourist priests,
who wished to give a pious touch of pilgrimage to their holiday,
would come and say Mass at her altar. Tito, on these occasions,
so managed matters that no such priest could get out of the sacristy
without giving him at least a franc for the murky black coffee he
would bring him in a thick tumbler. Added to all this there were
the candles that the faithful offered to the Madonna that was so
notoriously miraculous, and which they had to buy of Tito. They
were in four sizes : those at two soldi, which cost Tito two francs
the hundred ; those at five soldi, which cost him one franc a dozen ;
those at half a lira, for which he paid two and one-half lire the
dozen; and very grand ones at a franc each (painted gilt or orna-
mented), for which Tito had to pay five lire the dozen.
As Tito always took care the candles should by no means bum
out, he managed another very comfortable profit that way. But the
1915] THE SACRISTANS 579
correctness of his business instincts was sufficiently shown by his
choosing that the greatest proportion of profit should be on the
cheapest candles, of which the sale would naturally be the most ex-
tensive.
Maso advertised his comparative poverty by a personal dirti-
ness that would have astotmded any beholder whose ideas of Sicily
were drawn from clever English or 'American novels. Not that
Maso himself considered dirtiness any advertisement of anything;
he merely regarded cleanliness as foppish. All the same he liked
to be thought poorer than he actually was ; it made him feel a sort
of credit-balance of possession.
Tito, on the other hand, was smart and rather dean to the
naked eye : only the hands, face and neck after all are visible to it.
These Tito not only washed, but he used scented, very highly
scented, soap to them. So that he smelt like a muskrat.
Tito saw no use in opulence, unless one looked affluent ; and he
endeavored, with some local success, to appear more affluent than he
really was. No one had ever seen Maso on the day he was shaved,
though he was not understood to grow a beard, any more than the
other ecclesiastical persons of Santa Venera. Tito, no doubt, was
far from being shaved daily; for even his extravagance had its
limits, and daily shaving would have seemed a profligate extrava-
gance indeed to the Sicilians of the province of Catania. But on
his unshaven days Tito never seemed to be in evidence. Moreover,
he always wore a coat, whereas Maso only wore his when he hap-
pened to be serving Mass; he had a pair, too, of celluloid cuffs with
immense solitaire studs (representing the King and Queen of Italy,
a good deal flushed by their regalia), and he wore collars and a
blood-colored necktie ; shoes also, with intensely pointed toes, while
Maso's ragged stockings were very little concealed by a pair of raw-
hide sandals.
Finally, Maso was eighty-three, though quite unaware of the
fact, and had a wife nearly ^ old, quite as dirty, more ill-tempered
and miserly and ignorant than himself. Tito was a bachelor, and
considered himself about seven and twenty.
" Four priests from Malta said Mass at the 'Miraculous* to-
day,'* observed Tito with detachment. He had nothing to do : Maso
was cobbling a boot, and Tito liked watching him; it emphasized his
own leisure. For Tito, had no trade, outside his sacristanship,
though he often earned some francs by waiting at one of the hotels,
or at the bar in the Teatro Elena.
S8o THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
So now he leaned against the door post with his fine eyes bent
on the mustard-colored boot, with high top for the trousers to but-
ton into, at which the old man was working.
" That's where England begins ? " observed Maso ; and Tito
nodded.
" But these were not English," he explained. " Maltese."
Maso raised his head and spat far out into the sunlight ; it was
his only recreation, and cost nothing.
Tito made a cigarette and lighted it.
" That makes eleven this month," he remarked, " and to-day
we have the seventeenth only."
" Eleven francs?"
" No. But fifteen francs fifty. One gave me five francs; he
was English, and another two francs fifty. It should have been
twenty-five francs fifty; but the ten franc note the American gave
me was a bad one."
Maso began to look pleasanter: a friend's disappointment is
exhilarating.
" The money is all bad in America," he asserted with a fine in-
dependence of data.
" The note was Italian," observed Tito.
Maso smacked the sole of the boot with a flat mallet, as though
he were a Prince of Wales declaring that it was well and truly laid.
Tito stared over his head into the house, whence came the noise of
slipshod feet moving about. He knew it was not Pippa — she was
not at all slipshod — without seeing her, for it seemed quite dark in
there from where he stood in the hot sunlight ; he knew it was her
grandmother. All the same he called out.
"It goes well Pippa?"
Old Lucia was as deaf as a post. There came no answer from
her ; but Maso muttered :
" She is not. She is gone to Giardini. This one is the old
she." He did not look up; nor did he speak very plainly, for he
had a piece of waxed thread in his mouth. But Tito heard him.
" She is getting very deaf," he observed ; as though he were not
thinking of Pippa.
" When they become old they are like that," snapped Maso.
He spoke with impatient tolerance, as if he himself were a
young fellow still.
" Is it not bad to suck that? " inquired Tito. " Bad for the
stomach ? " — with a slight tap on his own chest.
1915.] THE SACRISTANS 581
"I do It," replied Maso. "It is my custom." He went on with
his boot; and Tito looked across the Naumachia to a gap between
the houses in which all Calabria was framed. He had not the least
idea that it was beautiful.
" To bite the wax thread — that is my custom," continued Maso.
" Others smoke paper with minced tobacco inside. The wax
thread tastes also bitter. I prefer it."
Suddenly he withdrew the thread from his teeth and hospi-
tably offered it to his visitor. " Taste ! " he said. " It is bitter
like the wet end of cigars."
But Tito waved a refusal, politely.
" I believe," he declared gravely.
It was nearly eleven o'clock, and the sun was very hot. He
stepped in over Maso's legs ; and presently could see Lucia plainly
enough as she slopped about the floor. There was a smell of wood
smoke and onions and leather, especially the two latter. Tito re-
membered complacently how much more comfortable his own house
was, though he was a bachelor.
All the same, old Lucia considered that she was having a rather
special clean-up to-day. She pulled things out of their places and
presently pushed them back again; and she turned a few things
out of drawers into cupboards. One cupboard opened with some
difficulty; inside were a few jars of the common glazed ware made
in the place; jars of perfect shapes and satisfying tone of color.
Lucia was short, and the cupboard rather high up ; she had to
stretch up on tiptoe to grope in it. Presently she pulled a jar down
altogether ; it fell to the birch floor and was smashed there. In a
moment the uneven, broken flooring was strewn with gold coins.
IL
Tito strolled across the Naumachia to his own church. He
had nothing to do there ; but he had observed casually to Maso that
the ladies (t. e,, of the Santissimi Cuori) had a conference this
afternoon, and he must prepare for it. As a matter of fact, he
had prepared already. Nor had he any very particular object in
lying. It was, as Maso had said, his custom; he did it. Nor
would he have been at all affected by the knowledge that the old man
never believed him. His custom would have remained unaltered.
" I go," he had said, " to make ready for the Jesuit, the Jesuit
of the ladies. He comes from Acireale to-day."
S82 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
Maso grunted : he did not like Jesuits, though he did not know
why: he thought it right. So Tito walked off; and disappeared
into the Pieta. He had not taken any notice at all of the gold pieces.
Only he had said when the jar smashed : " It will be said I have the
'evil eye !* " and he pretended to make horns against himself. " I
go, or Maso will want me to buy him a new jar, and that one I saw
had no spout, and was cracked already."
Thus, as he felt, with infinite tact did he cover his immediate
retreat, and leave Maso to gather up his money.
Would Lucia get a beating? he wondered. He did not care in
the least whether she did or no. He had no grudge against her, and
no fancy for her. He was quite indifferent. That his enemies
should be hurt would please him, that his friends should get good
luck did not annoy him, so long as their luck was not better than
his own. For the rest he thought only of himself.
He let himself out of the sacristy door of the church, having
first locked the big door towards the Naumachia from inside. As he
passed the high altar he did not genuflect : there was no one to see
him, and he was bored by all the observances of religion. That was
the worst of being a sacristan. He had no religion at all, and it
was tiresome to have to pretend to any. He liked his occasional
duties at the Teatro Elena much better. For that one thing he had
been sorry when his military service was over; during that time he
had certainly made no show of religion or morality.
The sacristy door opened on to a narrow, steep path, descend-
ing between garden walls to the road down to Giardini. Tito in-
tended to go to meet Pippa as she came back. There was no hurry,
and it was shady here between the high walls. Tito enjoyed his
leisure, and he was thinking of other pleasant things besides Maso's
handsome granddaughter; of those gold pieces, for instance; of the
fact that Pippa was the old sacristan's only descendant or relative ;
and of that trick he had of chewing the wax thread, piece after
piece, all day long.
After nearly a quarter of a mile the descent ends in steps, and
the steps end in the broad, winding carriage road. Tito lay on the
bank and continued to enjoy his leisure. After all, it was unques-
tionably less trouble to be sacristan of the Pieta than a soldier —
and much more remunerative. Over against him Etna hung in the
sky; but all her beauties were invisible to him. Beauty is in the
eyes. And yet Tito's own eyes were beautiful enough; he was well
used to the undisguised admiration artists betrayed for him; and
1915.I THE SACRISTANS 583
had often earned easy money as a model. Perhaps in him the pure
Greek type was uppermost, but the Saracenic strain that struggled
with it only bettered it
It would be hard to find a more opulent example of physical
beauty than Tito — ^but that he should be a Christian! His very
beauty belied his superficial Christianity: it was pagan; classical,
with just suspicions of the Arabic, the Oriental. Oddly enough, the
man, worthless in fifty ways, had scarcely any personal vanity. He
was much vainer of his clothes. He had bought those for himself,
and they had cost much ; and Tito deeply respected what was ex-
pensive. His beauty had been given him, and Tito hardly ever
valued a free gift, unless it were money, and even then he cared less
for it than for money he had acquired by his own scheming and un-
scrupulosity.
Besides there were other young men in Santa Venera nearly as
handsome as himself, but there were none of his class so smartly
dressed. Nevertheless, Tito consciously valued his appearance as
an asset, for to be vain of a possession and to be aware of it are two
different things. And Tito knew that his assets were not so many
that the most obvious of them could be left out of calculation.
For Tito was desperately in want of money. He knew very
well that the appearance, rather than the reality, of affluence had all
along been his ; to a reputation for wealth he had sedulously lived
up, than which no process is more hopelessly expensive. And now
he was inextricably in debt.
in.
Pippa came up from Giardini, in the blazing noon, unem-
barrassed by the sun's stare, and unvexed by the fury of his caresses.
She neither loitered nor hurried, her limbs moving, as it seemed, of
themselves, without her taking any thought of them. And she held
herself finely erect, as though a water vessel were balanced on her
head, as indeed it often was. The road winds north and south,
along the face of the steep, but, whichever way she faced, there was
always one of the loveliest views in the world before her. But
she noticed it all as little as Tito.
Presently, however, she came close to someone whose trade it
was to notice such things, one of the artists who abound here, to
whose presence everyone had long grown accustomed. They had
come long before the tourists, and now, before the horrible tidal
S84 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
wave of tourists, they were beginning to recede. This one was a
Sicilian, like Pippa herself, but come hither from a Roman studio,
up ninety-three steps, in the Capo le Case, not far from where it nms
sideways into the Via Sistina.
He sat in a bend of the road that jutted out a little, as on a sort
of rock bracket, and had a view of Etna that was incomparable.
Scores of people passed up and down every day, but he had been the
only one to discover just that particular view, and he was proud of
it. A dozen paces up or down, and the picture was quite different.
" Buon giorno, signorina! "
Pippa had slowed down perceptibly from the turn of the road
whence she caught sight of him. He had seen her long before as
she came up the twisting road — she was close to him now, and almost
stood still.
''Giorno!''
She glanced at his picture: it would not have interested her,
but that she knew it would be bought by someone. Anything that
brought money was, naturally, important. Signor Enrico Longo
quite understood her point of view.
" I shall put it in the Esposizione dei Belli Arti," he said, " and
sell it for four hundred lire."
Pippa made a polite little noise, expressive of not too much sur-
prise, absolute belief and appropriate congratulation. But she did
not really suppose he would get so much. She had a sort of scale
of exaggerations in her mind, and assessed the selling value of the
picture at about two hundred and fifty, which was, alas, about the
real figure.
Signor Enrico took a fairly long look at her, and then looked
back at his view. He quite felt that it was his, and liked it es-
pecially for that reason. But he liked the picture on the canvas
best. He only cared for the actual view as it was capable of be-
coming a picture. His appreciation of the magnificence of beauty
in mountain and sea and sky, and Pippa's and Tito's lack of it, were
not really very wide apart. To be alive to such beauties was his
trade, and it was not theirs ; that was all.
They were all three Sicilians, and all three materialists.
Pippa looked at Signor Enrico. He was very handsome, too,
for the present, and his eyes would always be divine. But no other
feature was perfect, as every feature in Tito was. The artist was
thin, and his nose, owing to his thinness, appeared too long; so did
his neck. But he was a gentleman, and Pippa balanced it all ac-
1915] THE SACRISTANS 585
curately. And she was quite right in counting Longo a gentleman,
though, as a matter of fact, his father was only a small innkeeper at
Noto. They had known each other some weeks, and Pippa was
certain that Signor Enrico admired her, though, oddly enough, he
had never made love to her. Had he attempted to do so, she would
have been extremely capable of taking care of herself.
He was looking at his canvas with a quiet satisfaction that was
entirely tmlike vanity. Except of a certain walking stick he had,
he was not in the least vain of anything. It had a watch and a
musical box in the top, and must have been extremely expensive:
an American who had bought one of his pictures had given it to him.
Yet his picture was really beautiful, and he was serenely conscious
of complete achievement. It was exactly what he had intended
it to be.
" Signorina ! "
Pippa attended.
" I would like to paint your portrait."
She laughed. " Why ? " she asked with more coquetry than
was habitual to her.
" Because it would be a beautiful picture and I should sell it
instantly."
"For how much?"
" For six hundred francs," he replied with undisguised flattery.
And Pippa was flattered. " Six hundred francs ! " Say he
even got half of it. For one's portrait to fetch three hundred
francs, and perhaps go to Rome and be seen by all the world in the
Esposizione!
" If there is an opportunity," she observed, with a doubtfulness
that was not intended to discourage; merely to enhance the con-
cession.
IV.
It was just then Tito came round the comer and found them.
He had grown tired of waiting, and had found that the bank
whereon he lay was overstocked with big black ants, like minute
dumb-bells. He was not at all pleased at finding Pippa talking to
Signor Longo, so smiled broadly, and they both, being compatriots
of his, understood perfectly.
" The signorina," observed the artist, " has promised to let me
paint her portrait."
586 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
The noon-day Ave Maria was just ringing from the convent
above them, and Longo began to put his things together; it was
time to go up to the inn for dinner.
Tito remarked: "What an honor!" without specifying to
whom.
" Why should not I have your portrait, too? Will you also be
painted ? " asked the painter.
" Why ? " inquired Tito, just as Pippa had done, but with less
coquetry.
He was really uncertain why Longo should wish to paint him ;
and, being imcertain, inclined to be suspicious. Perhaps the artist
would manage that the portrait should be ugly, and at the same time
very like him. Tito did not like that idea, and could not see where
it might lead to.
" Oh," said Longo quietly, " I have always wished to paint
you. You are the handsomest man I have ever seen."
Tito was taken aback. It was not that his modesty was dis-
concerted: he was wholly unassailed by any. But he was a very
primary person, sure to be disconcerted at first by the unusual. And
the direct, obviously sincere, praise of his beauty expressed by the
artist was a first experience. To compliments from other artists
he was well inured; but they had always been deftly insinuated,
only half-expressed, and yet had always conveyed a note of exag-
geration. He knew nothing yet of this Northern directness.
As for Longo he was not at all ignorant of the effect of his
speech: he quite imderstood it. He too was Southern, and used
to the stale compliment of convention ; but had been startled once
by receiving from an Englishman a tribute of which his own to Tito
had been but the paraphrase. He had been at once so conscious of
the effect, that he had resolved, when occasion offered, to try the
simple weapon himself. In his way Longo was very clever; and he
made some use out of everybody.
" I go to school to everyone," he said, " and they all teach me
something. Even the very stupid ones teach me not to be stupid."
But this avowal was to himself; he had no other confidant.
"Will you paint us together? Pippa and me together — ^you
mean that? " demanded Tito.
" If the signorina prefers it thus."
But the signorina was very far from preferring it; that she
and Tito should be painted together would, she thought, be equiva-
lent to the most public announcement of their betrothal
19150 THE SACRISTANS 587
They all three came up the steep road together: Pippa talking
very little. Indeed the Signor Enrico bore the weight of the con-
versation. Tito saw no use in talking to the girl with another man
there. And he did not particularly want to talk to Longo. All the
same, he did talk a little: otherwise he felt he should think too
much, and he did not want the artist to guess what he was think-
ing about.
At his dinner, however, he gave way to it, thinking with a
good deal of compression and intensity. For Tito was capable of
dogged effort and concentration of purpose. And, especially, he
was conscious that he must make haste. He had felt that already,
before finding Pippa and Signor Longo together. But now he
realized that it was, more than ever, necessary to be quick.
Less than two months ago he had been certain that Pippa was
ready to marry him: so certain that there had seemed to him no
instant necessity to ask her. And, on the other hand, he had not
then at all made up his mind that Maso had any money worth con-
sidering to leave her. He knew that some people declared the old
man had saved a fortune; but then they were sure to say that of an
old man who was notoriously a miser; and until to-day Tito had
much doubted the report. Pippa was so beautiful that he could not
bear to think of her marrying any other man : but he wanted money
so badly ! If she had nothing but her beauty, could he afford it?
Like all Southerners, Tito was practical. He had a keen ap-
preciation of luxuries, and a whole-hearted inclination for pleasures
and indulgences; but he was very conscious that there were un-
doubted pleasures and indulgences beyond his means. Now that
it had come to his knowledge, through Lucia's accident, that Maso
had plenty to leave his granddaughter, to marry her appeared to
Tito no longer an extravagance, but a duty. But he felt no longer
so sure of her. If she also were aware of her prospects, it was
natural she would rate herself highly. And it suddenly seemed cer-
tain to Tito that she had been less favofable to him since this artist
had turned up.
For more than fourscore years, Maso had lived and never had
been ill. That he should be ill now, therefore, made him angry.
He could not understand it. He remembered a good many people
dying, and had generally attended their funerals, professionally.
588 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
walking beside the hearse in an astonishing black suit, and carrying
a big torch of dirty brown wax, to the Campo Santo on the spur
of hill just outside the Giardini gate, below the Cappucini. All
that had appeared to him very natural. It had put four or five,
sometimes ten, francs in his pocket, and had always seemed to him
a very sensible arrangement of Providence. But he did not at all
see why he should be ill himself, as it had never happened before.
And he had a disagreeable conviction that he should die : and that
would upset all his habits.
Maso had never been anywhere else ; not even to Messina or
Catania or Acireale. He had never wanted to visit strange places.
They were always, he understood, exceedingly expensive. About
fifteen years ago, too, there had been a landslip, and part of the
Campo Santo had gone violently down a steep place into the sea;
that was just after the rainy spring and the earthquake of 1889.
And now there had been another earthquake, and the spring had been
intolerably rainy. He could not bear the idea of being in the Campo
Santo if a landslip were to send half of it jumping down the hill
side to Capo Sant* Andrea again. Yet he felt sure he must be
going to die. Otherwise why should he be ill ? He felt confident
that he was not a person to be ill just for nothing. All the same,
he went on as if nothing were going to happen. He continued do-
ing his work in the church exactly as usual, though one or two of the
priests noticed he was ill, and advised him to take a holiday.
"When their illustrious Reverences give me a pension!" he
retorted, enjoying his own sarcasm sourly.
And Tito offered to do his work for him; but he only said
sharply :
" That you may get promoted to my place once you have pushed
your toe into it ! "
Tito made a face, which the old man saw and chuckled over;
it was pleasant to pretend that it would have been promotion for
the smart young sacristan of the Pieta to be translated to Santa
Venera. So he kept on in the church : and kept on at his cobbling
in the dirty front room with its open arch, unglazed, level with the
street. But his face grew more ghastly every day, so that, had he
closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, anyone would have
said he was dead already ; and his temples stuck out nearly as flesh-
less as a skeleton's. Nevertheless, he went on smacking the sole
of the shoes with his wooden mallet, and sucking the bitter wax
threads as, he had told Tito, was his custom.
1915] THE SACRISTANS 589
Of Tito he thought almost constantly. Of his wife scarcely at
all, and of Pippa not much, except in relation to Tito. Maso had
never been romantic, and sixty years of wedded life had thrown no
halo round Lucia's squalid old head. Her miserliness was the only
endearing quality she retained for him. That she was dirty he
would not have noticed, nor did he particularly mind her being ugly,
as she had been for forty years and longer; but her deafness was
inconvenient and uncalled for. Also he was exasperated with her
for having smashed the jar in which he had hidden his beloved sav-
ings. As he sat cobbling he never thought of her, except with an
occasional brief movement of jealous irritation at her surviving
him. Nor, as has been said, was he much occupied about Pippa.
He had never, after all, cared a great deal for the girl : and his only
real interest in her had begun comparatively lately, when he had
perceived that the idea of marrying her had come to Tito. For
Maso adored Tito. In all his long dull life Maso had never cared
for anyone else except Peppino, the girl's father, who had been born
to him and Lucia after fifteen years of marriage. Peppino had been
sickly, and had only plucked up strength to marry when he was
nearly thirty. That was how Pippa came to be so young. Long
before she could remember her father had died ; whereupon Maso
had devoted himself to saving for the sake of the money itself, which
he had at first begun to scrape together for Peppino.
It was all very simple and squalid. What was not simple,
was the adoration the old man had gradually conceived for
the young rival sacristan. To himself, Maso never acknowl-
edged it, and could not in the least understand it. Perhaps
no one could. To do. him that much justice, Tito never sus-
pected it, though it is not likely that, if he had, it would have made
any difference to his needy selfishness. Maso always snubbed him,
and belittled him as well to his face as behind his back. The very
things for which the old man secretly admired him, he openly
derided and scoffed at: Tito's fine clothes, and smart ways, his
schooling, and power of writing as well as speaking Italian, his con-
ceited manners — alas, his lax morality, even his selfishness and self-
indulgence. Maso sneered less at his scheming and unscrupulous-
ness, but those also he admired slavishly ; and the only person in the
world who suspected it was Don Cenzo, the notary. For Don
Cenzo was a wise old man and very silent, and he had made Maso's
will for him and understood it.
590 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
VI.
The day before Maso died, a thing happened which might have
been of no ultimate importance, had not Signor Enrico Longo, the
artist, chanced to see it. He was standing by the wide arch-door
of Maso's workshop, and, undetected by the old man, had been
rapidly sketching him : his appearance had become so extraordinary
that Longo thought it worth making into a rough study that might
be useful. It had not taken long, and he had finished and put
the bit of paper away, when Tito came sauntering across the
Naumachia, and presently leaned against the opposite door post.
His nonchalance was so unstudied that it attracted Longo's atten-
tion, and made him discern under it a further excitement. Tito
looked more dissipated than usual, which was one of fate's unfair-
nesses, for he had been lately much steadier. He was as handsome
as ever, but his eyes seemed almost too big and brilliant, and there
were deep shades of black under them, almost like bruises.
" He won't call the doctor," observed Longo, nodding towards
Maso. " I've been telling him that I met Doctor Manchini just
now, down the hill there by Castello a Mare; he had been to see
someone at the convent, and I nearly told him he should come up
here to see Maso."
Maso growled. He did not believe in doctors, and knew they
were expensive. Tito was unable to repress entirely a certain re-
lief at his obstinacy. It was not that, however, which Longo par-
ticularly noticed : but something that took place immediately after-
wards.
Don Taddeo, the carpenter, who was also the undertaker, had
a goat, and this animal came along the Naumachia tossing her head
conceitedly. Now goats, especially Sicilian goats, have many salient
characteristics, but diffidence is never one of them. An inquisitive
appetite is : and as she came close to Maso's wooden tray on short
legs, that stood outside on the pavement close to his elbow, and at
the same level, she thrust her nose into it, in search of anything
obviously inedible that might be in it. A bundle of wax threads,
cut into rather uneven lengths, seemed to satisfy every requirement,
and she seized them hastily in her very prehensile mouth, and made
hurriedly off with all the exhilaration of conscious transgression.
At that particular moment, Signor Longo's eyes happened to be on
Tito's face.
igiSl THE SACRISTANS 591
" She has taken them, Maso ! " he called out. " Your bunch
of wax threads."
The old man looked after her indifferently.
With uplifted head she had paused, fifty yards away, to de-
vour them hastily.
" I chew them, signore," he observed. " It is my custom as I
told you Tito. They taste bitter like the wet end of a cigar : and
they cost cheaper."
Presently Longo went away. But he lodged with Don Taddeo,
and that evening he was informed of the goat's demise, which was
the more trying to Taddeo that her condition was at the time most
interesting. Half an hour later Maso himself heard of it. Pippa
brought back the news: for she had been to see Assunta, Don
Taddeo's wife, who had always been rather a friend of hers, and
more markedly so during the last few weeks. Assunta was a good-
natured woman and liked Signor Longo, whereas she detested Tito,
who gave himself airs — ^as if a sacristan were much higher in ecclesi-
astical precedence than an undertaker — which Don Taddeo's wife
resented vigorously, seeing that her husband had a couple of fields,
and the two black horses that drew most people on their last drive
out of Santa Venera.
" They are tiresome things," observed Pippa, sympathetically,
" and who knows what will poison them. Don Marso, the farmer
cista, had a goat that ate a lot of yellow spurge and was no worse,
only his bambino that drank the milk died. Whereas your goat
eats some wax threads (that belonged, saving your honor, to my
grandfather, for his cobbling) and she dies. Ecco!"
She thought it well to remind them that the original grievance
had been Maso's. From Don Taddeo's, Signor Enrico walked
home with her : the first time she had definitely accepted his escort,
though often enough they had met in the road and talked, or walked
a bit of the way together. In the Corso, they met Tito, and Pippa
told him Don Taddeo's goat was dead.
" Don Taddeo, the undertaker, has he got a goat? "
His ignorance seemed to Longo rather elaborate.
" No," he said, " he has not : for it is dead, as Pippa is telling
you."
" But he had one : a blue one ! " said the girl, who was certain
Tito knew very well that the undertaker had a goat.
" It ate a bunch of Nonno's wax threads this morning," she ex-
plained in a tone of complaint, as though the result were vaguely
592 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
discreditable to the family, ** and soon after the Ave Maria it
died."
" Altro! It was that goat? I saw it," said Tito.
They walked on, and Tito continued his way in the opposite
direction. They were both thinking about his pretending not to
know that Don Taddeo had a goat. So when they spoke, it was of
another matter.
"Why should it die?" complained Pippa, adhering to her
grievance. " A few wax threads ! "
" And your grandfather has always chewed them, as he told
Tito." Signor Enrico's tone was innocence itself, and his face was
as expressionless as he could make it. All the same, Pippa im-
mediately knew what he was thinking of.
" Until now," she observed, " they never did him harm. He
has chewed them all his life."
Longo looked more and more innocent.
" All his life, yes," he agreed, " they did him no mischief — un-
til now."
" And now," the girl asked, " what do you think? He is very
ill?"
" He will die very soon," the artist declared plainly.
vn.
Maso was dead — yes, and buried, too ; for in the hot south the
great outward journey of one's soul is followed very quickly by the
shorter last journey of one's body. Close by the cracked wall, on
the side nearest the precipitous hill at whose foot lies Capo Sant'
Andrea and the sea, lies his ugly new grave : in an inevitable posi-
tion for the next landslip. For Maso had said nothing, and his re-
pulsions on the subject were unconjectured.
Another old sacristan, belonging to the Cappucini, had bor-
rowed his threadbare and greasy black suit to walk by his hearse,
partly out of respect for the deceased, and partly to gain
two francs fifty. Tito, of course, attended also in his newer
black suit, the same he waited in at the restaurant of the Teatro
Elena. And naturally Don Taddeo w^as there, for there is only
one undertaker in Santa Venera, talking, as he walked, to his
neighbor, the chemist, Don Marco; they spoke a little of old
Maso, but more of Don Taddeo's goat, as was natural. And
1915] THE SACRISTANS 593
under the big hibiscus tree in the comer of the Campo Santo
stood Signor Longo, the artist, sketching the funeral which he re-
cognized as pictorial. His own country was not without honor
to this prophet: and, though a Sicilian, he was keenly alive to
the scenic splendors of Sicily. That he loved its marvelous beau-
ties I am not prepared to say, but he thoroughly recognized their
utility for reproductive purposes. Up in the dim old house on
the Naimiachia, Pippa and old Lucia were receiving visits of
condolence, and their visitors were bellowing well-aired fragments
of philosophy into the widow's deaf ears.
The dead man's bench and tray and stool looked pathetic now
their master of more than threescore years had gone from them;
but it was not a pathos to appeal to Pippa nor the visitors. When
the latter had all gone, the old woman began to move about aim-
lessly. She was quite lost without Maso. For sixty years she had
been used to his ill-tempers and scoldings, and their cessation for-
ever left her helpless. She had never had anything to do but to
defend herself against them, and life had become suddenly silent.
She was as unromantic as Maso himself had been; but he
had been her husband, and a faithful one, if crabbed and un-
tender; and her life had never been anything but the less signifi-
cant half of his. You might as well try to cut a raw egg in
halves, as divide her existence from that of her lifelong com-
panion. She could not have defined or explained her grief; in-
deed she had never tried to define or explain anything in her
life. Perhaps it was not grief in the common sense at all. But
it would suffice to kill her. The habit of living, as it were, half
a life, had so grown into her that it would not be possible for her to
continue living a separate, independent life all to herself.
Don Cenzo, the notary, who was elderly and wise, perceived
this when he came in, half an hour after the other visitors had
gone away. He did not tell her about Maso's will: it seemed
to him useless to trouble her. But he told Pippa. The old man
had left everything to the man who should marry Pippa. He
had always taken it for granted that he should himself survive
Lucia. But no doubt, said Don Cenzo, Pippa and her husband
would look after the old woman.
" But I have no husband ! " said the girl with a little laugh.
" Not to-day," replied the notary, " but that will be an af-
fair of to-morrow."
He bowed politely. And he guessed already that Pippa would
VOL. a.— 38
594 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
not marry Tito, as her grandfather had intended. This slightly
shocked him, for he was a lawyer, and had a feeling that the
wishes of a testator should be complied with. But when testators
express their intentions thus vaguely, they have but themselves
to thank if they are defeated. Being a lawyer, he felt that also.
And Don Cenzo, like Assunta, disliked Tito.
As for Pippa, she had made up her mind that no power on
earth would now make her marry the handsome young sacristan:
not even the undeniable power of his beauty. For she had also
made up her mind about something she had suddenly read in
Signor Enrico's mind, a suspicion of his that, abruptly, had been
bom a robust certainty in her own. That Signor Longo wanted to
marry her, she had also become certain.
At that moment, though she did not know it, the two men
were together. Tito had taken off his evening suit, and put on his
ordinary clothes, in which he looked much better. He was
now in the sacristy of the Pieta, getting out the next day's vest-
ments. To his displeasure and surprise, the man he least de-
sired to see of all men in the world had, uninvited, joined him
there.
The front doors of the church opening on the Naumachia were
locked, and Signor Enrico knew it. He, therefore, knocked at
the sacristy door, and, without waiting for any reply, opened it
quickly and went in. For a moment, the two men looked at
each other without speaking. Tito had not expected this visit;
and his surprise gave the other that much initial advantage. On
that Longo counted; and by a further advantage of surprise he
intended to proceed. Taking from his pockets a small canvas
bag he put it down, close to Tito, on the vesting table of antique
polished mahogany, nearly black, but without saying anything.
" What is this ? " asked the sacristan, almost involuntarily.
" Money," retorted the artist promptly. " Open and count it."
Almost mechanically Tito began to do so.
"But why should I?" he inquired, presently, pausing with
the notes in his hand.
" Because it concerns you."
Tito went on counting; the artist watching him, and chiefly
occupied with the thought of the man's astonishing beauty. Just
as he by no means desired to live in the houses that were best to
paint, so was he quite free to recognize the beauty of this man
>vho was altogether hateful. Tito did not count the money to
1915.] ^^£ SACRISTANS 595
an end: he could tell exactly how much it was without that. It
was, to his standards, a good deal.
"How does it concern me, signore?" he asked, as though
pausing, but feebly.
" It is yours."
"Mine? How; what for?"
" To take you to Argentina."
Tito did not drop the money, but he could scarcely hold it
without betraying that his hand trembled. He let it rest on the
time-smoothed wood. He wanted to look full into Longo's face,
but for the life of him he could not, though he felt the other
man's eyes fixed on his own. And he wanted to say something;
but he dared not: nothing seemed safe; he had no role, no pro-
gramme.
Longo had thought him cleverer and more courageous, too, and
began to despise him more and more. This gave his voice, as
he went on, a confidence and sense of power, a certainty, that
the wretched Tito felt intuitively, and that materially assisted Signor
Enrico's success.
"To take you to Argentina. A number of Calabresi are
going from Reggio this evening; they are crossing to Messina
even now. In the Florio boat, Empedocle, they will start this
evening at five o'clock. On Friday morning they will reach Na-
ples, and re-ship; that same afternoon in the Speronza, they will
sail for Buenos Ayres. That is how you will go."
Still Tito could not turn his full face, nor lift his eyes, nor ask
"Why?" as he was trying to. His tongue clave to the roof of
his mouth, and his mouth itself felt dry. His desire and his in-
ability to speak was exactly like what is experienced in a night-
mare. He was always a coward, though no one had known it till
now. Perhaps not himself, even. And how brave would he need
to have been not to prove a coward now, with a conscience
like his! He had two additional reasons for cowardice, that his
tormentor, who had guessed so much, could not guess — one phy-
sical, one moral, and both added themselves to all the rest to
demoralize him utterly.
There was something the matter with his heart besides its
blackness. He had become certain of it only lately: more than
ever certain since that quick knock had come just now on the
door opening on the steep path. It was not that his heart was
beating violently: after one horrible leap into his throat it had
596 THE SACRISTANS [Aug.,
ceased, he thought, to beat at all. He longed to put his hand
upon his breast and feel, but with those ruthless, untiring eyes
upon him he could not.
The moral thing that weighed him down and demoralized him
was worse. But of that presently, though he was thinking of it all
the time, and its effect was so gatheringly apparent that Longo saw
its paralyzing effect, and his pitiless voice hardened, and grew more
masterful, more irresistible, so that the listening wretch felt all
spirit of resistance oozing hopelessly out of him.
" That is how you will go," insisted the voice. " For Santa
Venera is unhealthy for you; as it was for Maso, as it was for
Don Taddeo's goat and there are other unhealthy places
too: Pantalaria and Ponza, for instance; you never heard, per-
haps, how unhealthy Pantalaria was for the Empress Messalina
the poisoner "
Tito heard no more. The voice faded into immeasurable dis-
tances, and when he came to himself again, Tito was alone.
Then he too went: exivit et non erat; he went out and it
was night; like his prototype, the other traitor, but Tito's night was
not the merciful darkness of nature. Down the hillside he stag-
gered, in the blazing noon with the pitiless staring of the July
sun blinding him; but with no sun of hope, no light of any sav-
ing love of God or man or woman; for his desire for Pippa
had been no more than the mere jealous greed of possession;
the vulgar avarice of beauty, as common and not much nobler
than the vulgar avarice of money.
When Pippa told poor dying Maso how Don Taddeo's goat
was dead that had eaten the wax threads, Signor Longo was still
there, and the old man's eyes were on his face. And into the
growing darkness of those eyes that looked so close on death, grew
a wistful light, of sadness unspeakable, but nobler than any that
had ever gleamed in them. For a time no one spoke. Then
Maso bade the women begone, and beckoned Longo to stay by
him. No sooner were they alone than the wistful look trans-
lated itself into speech, answering the suspicion in the young man's
face.
" I did it. I myself," he said eagerly. " No one knows
no one must know. But I did it. I insured my life, long ago:
I thought it could be only for a few years. But I lived and lived :
and the money was all going, paying the money of the insurance.
1915] THE SACRISTANS 597
I could not bear it all to go. So I chewed wax threads, and they
are velenosi, poisonous. Now I die, and there will be no more
paying, but a big money from the insurance; Don Cenzo knows
what it is. And my will. He made it and he knows that, too. He
keeps it, for I cannot read Thus I did it: thus, I myself."
" Yes, yes. I see," said Longo ; knowing well that the dy-
ing man lied to save the living; then he called back the women
and went away, determined now that he was certain that Tito
should go too, go far, and go forever. The women had come
back, and would have sat up all night with the old man who
was dying, but he drove them fiercely away to bed. All night
he sat alone, and early in the morning sent for Tito. To him, too,
he told his wistful lie, but never looking at the young man's
face.
That was the second thing that demoralized him: to know
that Maso himself knew and excused him, knew and loved him.
So he staggered blindly down the hillside in the utter night of the
fierce noon, while the weird fichi d'India clutched at the steep
as it leapt downwards to the sea. Hopeless, hopeless! Utterly
hopeless, if his final judgment were to lie with us, with sins of our
own to make us merciless to the different sins of others. But Per-
fection does not delegate the function of judgment, and imperfection
is not to be judged by imperfection.
ALFRED THE GREAT, PATRON OF LEARNING.
BY BROTHER LEO.
I HE cold-blooded critic, unmoved by national bias and
making a liberal discoimt for the undiscriminating
appreciation of the hoi polloi, may not be disposed to
regard King Alfred the Great as a genius; but he
cannot refuse to the mighty Saxon the possession of
talent so rich and so varied as almost to win the title of genius
by reason of its many-sidedness. Alfred, indeed, stands out as one
of the most likeable figures in universal history. It is far from
surprising, in view of the magnitude of his accomplishments and
the singular uprightness of his private life, that for many centuries
he assumed almost the proportions of a culture hero in the English
mind, that he passed into legend as " the Truthteller " and " Eng-
land's Darling," that in the thirteenth century the chronicle which
bears the name of John of Brompton styles him "the Giver of
Alms, the Hearer of Masses, the Seeker into Things Unknown,"
and that in the nineteenth century Wordsworth should do homage
to the " Lord of the harp and liberating spear." " A saint without
superstition, a scholar without ostentation, a warrior all of whose
wars were fought in defence of his country, a conqueror whose
laurels were never stained with cruelty, a prince never cast down
by adversity, n^ver lifted up to insolence in the hour of triumph —
there is," says Freeman, "no other name in history to compare
with his."
Never did more difficulties confront a young king, and never
did king, young or old, conquer them more definitively. The gal-
lant stand at Athelney and the brilliant victory of Ethandun de-
cisively checked the Danish invasions, and the peace of Wedmore
secured the independence of Wessex and all England. It is signif-
icant that all three momentous events occurred in the same year,
878. Nor did Alfred trust merely to treaties to make sure his
success. He fortified London and restored the defence made pos-
sible by the walled town; he built ships and equipped fleets, and,
despite the fact that his hereditary enemies were professional sea
rovers, made England mistress of the seas.
Not less solicitous for the arts of peace, Alfred established
igiSl ALFRED, PATRON OF LEARNING 599
national credit and developed and extended foreign trade. And he
succeeded admirably in the even more difficult task of imifying
England. "It was part of the work of Alfred," says the late
Walter Besant, " unseen and unsuspected, to make it possible to
weld the different nations into one; to create little by little the
love of country in place of the old loyalty to tribe."
A thoroughgoing reformer in the best sense of the word,
Alfred strove against heavy odds in the interests of education,
culture and religion. He realized that chiefly by creating an
enlightened public opinion could he carry his external successes
to a happy fruition; and, like all men with a thirst for knowledge
and scant opportimities for slaking it, he was impressed with the
importance of sound and ripe scholarship. Like Charlemagne,
though to a less extent, he had lacked learning in his youth; and
like Charlemagne he surrounded himself with scholars and savants,
and availed himself of the opportunities thus afforded to benefit
himself and his people. It is not surprising that the legend which
attributes the founding of Oxford to Alfred should have persisted
so tenaciously. That achievement, though not actually his, was
certainly in harmony with his policy. What Augustus did at the
period of the reorganization of the Roman Empire, what Leo X.
did at the time of the Renaissance, Alfred did for England in the
ninth century: from his own land, and from across the seas,
he brought learned teachers, and thereby established what might
be fittingly called a royal university.
Among the noted scholars who were induced to attach them-
selves to Alfred's court, was Plegmund, Archbishop of Canterbury,
in the words of his friend and contemporary Asser, " a venerable
man and wise." The anon)rmous author of John of Brompton's
chronicle styles him " a right noble man of letters;" and to Simeon
of Diu-ham he was faithful and famous, " a reverend man, bright
with the fruits of wisdom." Plegmund came to Alfred from
Mercia in 884; and, though the exact length of time he spent at
court is a matter of uncertainty, the prominence given him in the
chronicles justifies the asstmiption that his influence as a teacher
was deep and far-reaching. He was made Archbishop of Canter-
bury under Pope Formosus in the twenty-first year of King Alfred's
reign ; and a glimpse at his character and methods is afforded us in
the information that in the following year he " consecrated seven
bishops in one day." He was the founder of the Saxon Chronicle.
Another native scholar was Werfrith, Bishop of Worcester,
6oo ALFRED, PATRON OF LEARNING [Aug.,
skilled as a linguist, and, says Asser, " well taught in the Divine
Scripture." Werfrith lent his learning to the work of furnishing
Saxon versions of great books. At the King's suggestion, as
indicated in the preface to Alfred's translation of the Pastoral Care,
he translated the Dialogues of Pope Gregory the Great and of his
disciple Peter. Though the statement found in John of Brompton's
chronicle, that Werfrith translated Boethius into Saxon, is, as
Plummer insists, totally unsupported, we have reason to believe
that he aided Alfred in the latter's version of The Consolations of
Philosophy. The Bishop of Worcester probably engaged in teach-
ing at the court school, but his celebrity seems mainly due to his
ability as a translator, "giving sense for sense most clearly and
elegantly."
From the monastery of St Bertin's in Flanders came the monk
Grimbald, a man of many parts. He was a singer and a musician, a
Scripture scholar, and an authority on ecclesiastical law, as well
as a teacher of recognized ability. Eventually he became abbot
of New Minster at Winchester, where he died in 903. His per-
sonal probity is attested by the fact that during his life he enjoyed
the reputation of being a "worthy man," and after death was
honored as a saint in the English calendar. Dean Hook, though
apparently without adequate foundation, states that Alfred had
intended to use his influence to place Grimbald in the see of Canter-
bury instead of Plegmund, but that he changed his plans in view
of the existence of a prejudice against foreign-bom prelates. Be
that as it may, Grimbald seems to have been distinguished for the
possession of what to-day is called the artistic temperament. He
did not at first take kindly to English ways, and seems to have had
no hesitation about discussing his likes and his dislikes. The
Oxford legend has it that Grimbald was a veritable storm centre
in the early days of the university, when the Saxon teachers strongly
resented his continental methods of conducting lectures. The
Oxford legend as a whole is, of course, discredited ; but it is safe
to assume that there must have been some fire where there is so
much smoke, and the good monk Grimbald is not the only educa-
tional maverick who, through many tribulations, has entered into
ultimate honors.
Another of Alfred's scholars, whose path was not one of
primrose dalliance, was John the Old Saxon, a monk of Corvey,
whose scholarship and virtue found favor in the King's eyes, and
eventually made him abbot of the new monastery at Athelney. In
1915] ALFRED, PATRON OF LEARNING 601
the community were several monks brought by Alfred from Gaul,
and these did not take kindly to the Old Saxon's administration.
Those were days when the blood coursed tumultously, even in the
veins of the Lord's anointed, and the opposition of the foreign clique
did not spend itself in grumblings and petty annoyances. Two of
the malcontents — a priest and a deacon — concocted what the chron-
icler justly designates an atrocious plot. Two serving-men, also
Frenchmen, were to kill the abbot as, according to his wont, he
prayed alone in the church at night, and then carry out his body and
lay it at the door of an infamous woman of the town. The plot
might have succeeded in every revolting detail, but for the refusal
of the abbot to be killed quietly. When the serving-men rushed
upon him with drawn weapons, John, despite his momentary con-
fusion and his uncertainty as to whether they were men or fiends,
utilized his fists and his voice to such good purpose that the com-
munity was aroused, his adversaries confessed their guilt, and
justice triumphed. The offenders, we learn from Asser, "died
a death of shame, in torments many a one." *
Less spectacular were the careers of the learned priests, Ethel-
stan and Werewulf, and that of Alfred's friend, teacher and biog-
rapher, Asser. Asser was a monk of St David's in South Wales
who, at the King's request, came to court in 884. Asser's original
concession — for, though he honored the King, he was fond of his
Welsh home and surroundings, and doubtless had work there that
none but he could do — was to spend six months of each year at
Alfred's court. A serious illness kept him from active life for
more than a year, and delayed his promised attendance on the
West Saxon monarch. Alfred manifested anxiety; and Asser,
to make up for his long delay, remained at court for upwards of a
year.
Asser was a scholar who was a saint, and a saint who was a
scholar, and in addition possessed a genial and sympathetic nature
which forms the happiest foundation for both sanctity and scholar-
ship. His life of the King, written, presumably, in 893, is a
beautiful picture of Alfred and an unconscious self -revelation of
the biographer. There is a quaint charm in such passages as that
which tells how Asser aided Alfred in making the Enchiridion,
or book of quotations. The genuineness of Asser's life of Alfred
has been attacked, notably by Thomas Wright in 1842; but, though
the existence of interpolations bearing on the Oxford legend and
other subjects has been admitted, the authenticity of the life as a
6o4 ALFRED, PATRON OF LEARNING [Aug.,
between dying paganism and living Qiristianity. It is a dialogue
between the author and philosophy, and it offers consolation for
the ills and reverses of life by demonstrating that true happiness
is something beyond the changes of fortune, that inward virtue
is all, that the truly virtuous man is ever the master of his own
fate, the captain of his own soul. It recalls Epictetus and Marcus
Aurelius, Thomas a Kempis, and St. Francis of Sales, Shakespeare
and Goethe. It is, in fine, one of the great books of the world,
because it speaks aloud a thought hidden in the heart of himianity.
It is an immortal book. And, though it may be too much to say
that Alfred put it into an immortal form, even the most cautious
critic will concede that Alfred's translation was adequate and
effective.
Of a widely different type was another book translated by
Alfred, a remarkable combination of historical, geographical and
polemical writing — a history of the world. Since the Middle Ages
its vogue has declined ; but in the ninth century Paulus Orosius was
a name to conjure with. The author lived in the days of the
Emperor Honorius, was a Spaniard by birth, an ecclesiastic and a
friend and disciple of the great St. Augustine, upon whose City
of God Orosius* history is obviously modeled.
It is misleading to speak of Alfred's version of Orosius as a
translation ; it is something more. The King made many interpola-
tions, particularly in the sections dealing with geographical matters,
in which he, the father of the English navy and the designer of a
new type of vessel, always manifested great interest. Among the
visitors to his court were Ohthere and Wulfstan, sailors and dis-
coverers. The former was a wealthy and influential Northman,
who is remarkable for having made the first Arctic expedition
undertaken for the sake of discovery and exploration; the latter,
a Dane, had made extensive explorations in the Baltic. In his
translation of Orosius, Alfred incorporated the gist of the informa-
tion received from his sailor friends, thus adding materially to the
value of the book as a manual of geography and history.
In setting down his own observations in his translation of
Orosius, King Alfred made no distinction between what he had
merely translated and what constituted an original contribution.
He followed a different course when making his translation of the
Pastoral Care of Pope Gregory the Great, and spoke in his own
person and in his own name in the epistle which forms the preface
to the book. Over the Pastoral Care itself we need not linger;
1915] ALFRED, PATRON OF LEARNING 605
but the introductory epistle claims our attention, partly because it
is Alfred's original work, partly because it sets forth his views
on a subject that even in our day has not ceased to vex the world.
In sixteenth century France, St. John Baptist de la Salle, in
opposition to the prevailing method of the day, set up a practical
and successful plea for the mother tongue in elementary education.
In this prefatory epistle to the Pastoral Care, King Alfred, address-
ing his friend Werfrith, Bishop of Worcester, and writing to the
English bishops of the ninth century, makes a similar appeal. It is
taking the world a long, long time to reconcile itself to translations,
but in our day we have at least grown tolerant of education in the
language of the country. For both education in the mother tongue
and translations in the vernacular as a means of such education,
Alfred here contends. He does not go quite so far as did the
eccentric Henry Rochefort of yesterday, who strenuously refused
to learn English lest his French style should suffer; but he does
insist upon teaching Saxon children in Saxon.
" Therefore," he says, " it seems better to me, if ye think so,
for us also to translate some books which are most needful for
all men to know into the language which we can all understand;
and for you to do what we very easily can if we have quiet enough;
so that all the sons of English free men who are rich enough to be
able to devote themselves to it, be set to learn until they are
well able to read English writing."
The children, he claims, should be taught to read English books
and English translations of Latin books, and that this elementary
stage of education should be common to all children of free birth.
Yet, Alfred was no extremist. He hastens to add that Latin studies
should follow in the case of boys being prepared for the higher
offices in Church and state. In defence of translations, he fought
the fight that St. Jerome had so valiantly fought before him, and
added that if it is well to have the Holy Scriptures in the " vulgar "
tongue, it is well to have also vernacular versions of other great
books.
One of the earliest translations made by King Alfred, was that
of the Venerable Bede's Ecclesiastical History of Britain. The
monk of Jarrow had written his great work in Latin, as monks were
ever wont to do, and Alfred deemed a vernacular version of it
eminently desirable. Unlike his procedure with Orosius, he here
clings closely to the original. But he does exercise his authority as
an editor by condensing the text, omitting many purely theological
6o6 ALFRED, PATRON OF LEARNING [Aug.,
disquisitions, such accounts as that of the Easter controversy and
certain documents of secondary importance.
The translations of Boethius, Orosius, St. Gregory, and Bede
are the only thoroughly accepted works of King Alfred. As was
inevitable, the tradition of the King's literary labors assumed
legendary proportions a few generations after his death, until we
have Ethelward protesting that nobody knows how many volumes
Alfred wrote. He is credited with a treatise on falconry, a book
of proverbs, the Martyr Book, and a translation of the fables of
iEsop. The Blooms, a collection of extracts translated from St.
Augustine, St. Jerome and St. Gregory, is generally regarded as
spurious, though its claims to authenticity were plausibly set forth
by Wiilker and Hubbard in the last century.
For the most part, the translations made by King Alfred were
what we call liberal translations. His aim was to convey the
meaning of the original rather than its form, and he frequently
altered and embellished and paraphrased. He was ever ready to
insert bits of information calculated to enlighten the prospective
reader. Thus, where Orosius mentions that Marcus Fabius refused
a triumph, Alfred inserts a description of a Roman triumph, and a
brief account of the history and functions of the Roman senate.
" Even in his most faithful translation," says Sedgefield, " that of
the Cura Pastoralis, King Alfred is by no means what in these days
would be called literal; while in his Boethius it is the exception to
find a passage of even a few lines rendered word for word."
All this was part of Alfred's design to make his work of service
to the reader. He had considerable ingenuity for inventing and
adapting " first aid " devices for students. For one thing, he con-
trived a lantern, first called into requisition, so the story goes, in
connection with the candles by which the King measured his time.
Again, we who take chapter headings and tables of contents as a
matter of course, msqr well pause long enough to remember that for
these accessories, in all but the most rudimentary form, we are
indebted to King Alfred.
In proportion to his historical importance and his influence as a
patron of letters. King Alfred does not loom large in subsequent
literature. Though numerous poems and dramas have been written
around him, few of them possess more than an antiquarian interest.
Milton entertained the thought of Alfred as an epic possibility, but
eventually chose the theme of Paradise Lost, The ponderous
Doctor Johnson had it in mind to write the life of Alfred, but
1915] ALFRED, PATRON OF LEARNING 607
dictionary making and prosperity prevented him from realizing
the project. One of the weakest plays by Sheridan Knowles is
Alfred the Great; and one of the least inspired poems by the late
Laureate, Alfred Austin, is England's Darling. All in all, it would
seem that Alfred the Great is best commemorated in English litera-
ture by Wordsworth's sonnet and Mr. Chesterton's Ballad of the
White Horse.
In the English Chronicle, under the year 891-892, occurs the
following entry : " And three Scots came to King Alfred in a boat
without oars from Hibemia, whence they had stolen away because,
for the love of God, they would be on pilgrimage, they recked not
whither. The boat in which they fared was wrought of three hides
and a half, and they took with them enough food for seven nights.
Then, after seven nights, they came to land in Cornwall, and then
went they straight to King Alfred. Thus were they named:
Dubslane, Maccbeth, and Maelinmum."
To the Gaelic rovers, Dubslane, Maccbeth, and Maelinmum, we
owe the homage of our thanks ; for they have let us into the secret
of King Alfred's influence as a patron of learning. That secret
was a winning personality. His position in the nation counted for
much and his kingly determination coimted for more; but the
greatest and most enduring factor in his efforts to restore and keep
alight the vestal flame before the battered altar of learning, was
his royalty of mind and heart that made friends and kept them;
that drew Grimbald from Gaul, that wooed Asser from his beloved
Wales, that spurred the three rovers from Ireland straightway to
his feet. Alfred possessed the power of sweetly inciting others
to fruitful effort, of inspiring confidence and affection in scholars
and pupils alike. And it is this quality which, more even than the
books he translated, and more than the galaxy of learned men
that adorned his court, constitutes his true greatness as a patron
of letters.
"THE ENLARGING CONCEPTION OF GOD/*^
BY EDMUND T. SHANAHAN, S.T.D.
I HE avowed object of this volume of essays is a re-
construction of the concept of God " in terms of the
living ideals that control to-day's life."^ The
method most naturally lending itself to this recon-
structive purpose is the intuitive and experimental
as distinct from the dogmatic and abstract. The conclusion reached
is that God must be conceived as somehow in the stream of social
consciousness. He is not a great Concept, He is the great Toiler,
Co-worker, Co-Sufferer, Sharer in human life and work.® He is
the God of men of action. Theology must, therefore, be moralized,
democratized, socialized.* All must be re-expressed in terms of
the ideals and conditions of the times.
Thought thus becomes secondary to the great fact of life.
And as life is fluent, thought must not remain static. There is no
revelation but that which our religious and spiritual experience offers
to our interpretative insight. Christ is, therefore, not so much a
Mediator as a Co-experimenter in the profundities of the religious
consciousness. A sound theology is simply the facts of our per-
sonal life writ large.*^ " The symbolism of the Cross points
straight to a sjnnpathetic, suffering God, Whose purposes are bound
up with ours and Whose life is poured out in the world's struggle."*
" How important, then, that our experience shall comprehend pro-
foundly and sympathetically — ^yes, vicariously and vitally — the expe-
rience and life of that Man Who was and is 'humanity's best Man.'"''
Reconstruction is not a term that can honestly be employed in
connection with this volume. One does not speak of reconstructing
a concept when the purpose is to strip it of all specific meaning,
and to destroy the original message which it bore. If men desire
to reject the truths of Christianity, let them be candid about it,
and not try to conceal under consecrated Christian phrases a view
of God and life which is anything but Christian. The late Goldwin
Smith characterized all such efforts as " Christianity on rollers,"
and said he much preferred proclaiming himself an agnostic to
talking a language in which he no longer believed. The author
of this volume evidently prefers the occupation of a wolf in sheep's
*By Herbert Alden Youtz. New York: The Macmillan Co. $1.25.
•Page 46. *Ihid, ♦Page JZ- 'Page 185. •Page 184. 'Page 185.
1915] " THE ENLARGING CONCEPTION OF GOD " 609
clothing. Goldwin Smith chose the only fitting course. Wolf that
he was, he did not wear any fleecy verbal coat of concealment.
Imagine a professor of " Christian " theology declaring that
supernaturalism means no more than " the divine presence and
power in the human;'*® mere immanence, in other words. Can
he be unaware of the fact that the Christian conception of God
is immanence plus transcendence? That in the thought of Chris-
tianity from the beginning, God was never regarded as isolated
from the world, but only as distinct from it? That He is im-
manent without being identical, transcendent without being separate
or aloof? And does the author think that in proposing the half-
truth of the Divine Immanence, he is helping us to " enlarge "
our conception of God? Why does he not say outright that he
is a pantheist, instead of hiding behind an ill-disguised medley
of Hegel and Bergson, contentiously set forth as a reconstruc-
tion of Christian theology? Giving a Bergsonian turn to the
Lord's saying, that He came in order to give men a greater
abundance of life, is an anachronistic interpretation of the Scrip-
tures which reflects no credit on the author's scholarship. One
may read anything into a text. The question, however, is whether
it is there to be read out of it.
The author would humanize God so thoroughly as to banish
the Divine, in the genuine Christian sense, from religion and
theology. Has he never heard of the supernatural as an assimila-
tion of the life of man to the life of God? And does he realize
that by reversing the process, and assimilating the life of God
to the life of man, he is lowering God to our level, not uplifting
us up to His? "The type of thought which separates God from
the world and makes the token of His presence a miraculous oc-
currence is supernaturalism." ° We blush for his scholarship and
acquaintance with the history of Christian doctrine when he fathers
such a statement as this. Surely, he does not regard the Deists
as original founts of Christian teaching. We should very much
like to have him quote other sources for supernaturalism of the
kind mentioned. In fact, the suspicion grows, as one proceeds,
that the author is not any too well acquainted with the views he
is criticizing. "Plena indulgentia quoiidie/'^^ for instance.
The Latin is on a par with the author's idea of indulgences, and
equally as correct. He insinuates** that not until recently was
metaphor distinguished from meaning in Christian theology. This
•Page 37. *Ibid. "Page 158. "Page 84.
VOL. a.— 39
6io "THE ENLARGING CONCEPTION OF GOD" [Aug.,
IS in large measure true of Protestant scholasticism, but Protestant
scholasticism is the least part of Christian theology, and not a faith-
ful chapter always, either. Let him pummel the Reform doc-
trines to his heart's content, provided he drop the large adjective
" Christian " when speaking of them.
Professor Youtz entertains the superficial opinion that feudal-
istic government and custom influenced the conceptions of Christian
theology.*^ It would be interesting to see some detailed proofs
attempted of this assertion which Loofs has shown to be without
foundation! And so the; story nms. Everything is dismissed
that does not correspond with his pragmatic theory of the nature
and function of human concepts. On this theory, which he no-
where establishes, but merely illustrates, as if illustrations were
proofs of the exclusive truth of his contention, all his criticism
depends. It is the dogma by which he destroys dogma; the un-
established prejudgment on which he rests and reposes his colossal
work of destruction, euphemistically called "putting new wine in
old bottles." We wish he had tested the old wine a little — ^he
does not seem to have done anything more than empty the bottles
without previously acquainting himself with their specific contents.
One thing we must point out as showing how ill acquainted
the author is with some, at least, of the subjects of his criticism.
On page 156 occurs the following: " We are all familiar with the
mechanical logic by which J. H. Newman {sic) satisfied his soul
that there must be somewhere an automatic safety device for
religious hearts longing for certainty." The mechanical logic of
Newman! Shades of the champion of the "illative sense" and
" intuition ! " Can the author be at all familiar with the intensely
psychological Oratorian, to whom logic was as dust, and life, de-
veloping life, the thing that chiefly mattered in the quest of truth?
The author should reserve his spleen and humor about " automatic
safety devices," until he is sure of applying his wit where it will
not reveal his lack of knowledge. His characterization of Newman
is unworthy and untrue. A writer should take better aim before
firing. Else his readers will think that he would rather be critical
than right, and this is the impression which the volume under re-
view creates at almost every turn.
We will not say anything about the style. " Dope " and " de-
livering the goods " are, no doubt, most appropriate concessions
to the Zeit-Geist, in a work that recognizes no other Divinity. A
1915] "THE ENLARGING CONCEPTION OF GOD'' 611
reconstruction of the Christian conception of God? Fuss and
fustian! It is a whittling-down of the conception to one half of
its original stature, in the mind of one who sees in God and
Christ and Christianity nothing more than " cosmic means " and
helps to man's social regeneration.
These essays of Professor Youtz are here reviewed at length,
not because there is anything deep, original, or powerful about
them, but because they afford an occasion for exposing the short-
comings of the philosophy to which their production is due. A
hurried glance at history will show how such a standpoint as the
author's came to be adopted, and how this spirit of " reconstruct-
ing" arose.
Kant, wrongly thinking the mind's power of analysis limited
to the hanal statement that A is A, was led to believe that a knowl-
edge of external reality was beyond our ken. An intellect that
could do no more than proclaim the identity of A with A was well-
nigh useless ; and from this falsely supposed limitation of thought
as thought, arose the chronic charge that the intellect is static: a
charge we are as tired of hearing as Aristides was of being called
the " just." Kant failed to see, early enough to be of profit, that
the mind can analyze the essential relations of a subject as well
as its " essence; " and the result was that he regarded all the con-
cepts framed by the intellect as isolated and imrelated: an error
which modern psychology has repudiated, and one which Professor
Youtz repeatedly condemns, while still retaining the false conse-
quences which Kant drew from it. The fact of the matter, inde-
pendently of all theories, is the reciprocity and interdependence
of all our mental states. The mind is a life, and not a checker-
board. Why does Professor Youtz admit this fact, and then
assume the contrary as the basis for a destructive principle of
criticism? Not concepts, but his concept of concepts, we venture
to say, should be made the subject of reformation and disavowal.
But let that pass. Kant, as we said, cut the mind off from
reality, and for the reason, or rather lack of such, just mentioned.
Very well, said Fichte. If the mind cannot reach the reality out-
side it, why the simplest thing in the world to do is to bring reality
into consciousness, and dismiss the thought that there is, can, or
need be anything outside at all. The presence of reality to con-
sciousness thus became the presence of reality in consciousness;
and that is how immanence became exclusive of transcendence.
Not a very creditable origin, surely, of the doctrine which the
6i2 '' THE ENLARGING CONCEPTION OF GOD " [Aug.,
author burdens himself to convey — that God is immanent without
also being transcendent.
All " externals " had perforce to go in such a view — sacri-
ficed to a supposition. The notions of God, reality, truth, life,
revelation, grace, authority had all to be reinterpreted in an im-
manentist sense. They lost their character as representations of a
reality distinct from themselves. There was no " help " now
possible from the " outside." The world was ours, God was in it
and of it — its ideal, its pulsating spirit, its flying goal; and we
are God's progressive self -manifestation.
Such is the pedigree of the idea which Professor Youtz in-
vokes to destroy the Christian conception of God. No proof of
It is offered. No proof of it was ever attempted by anybody.
Fichte merely thought it was the only way of bringing Kant's
divorced subject and object together, and that is the sole guarantee,
philosophically or historically, which immanence enjoys. So we are
asked in the name of this unestablished, haphazard assumption
to deprive ourselves of God, grace, salvation, revelation, and the
whole world of the Supernatural. Me niiserum!
Principiis obsta: sero medicina paratur
Cum mala per longas invaluere moras,
" Fichte, I believe in thee," is the new credo to which the
Professor of Christian Theology in Auburn Theological Seminary
would have us bow and subscribe. All concepts are "outworn"
that do not tally with the idea of immanence, first made exclusive
and overruling by the German champion of universal Ich-heit
The author rings the changes on this idea all through the volume.
Grace, he says, is " inhuman " help ; and so it is, from the ex-
clusive standpoint of immanence. But that exclusiveness of stand-
point is the whole matter at issue, and the author merrily assumes
it as a truth established. That is why he decries the idea that the
Incarnation is " humiliation." On the contrary, it was a " glory "
for God, so he says, to become man, since man represents all the
*' divine " potentialities there are, have been, or ever will be.
The volume is a very potent illustration of the destructive
influence which an uncontrolled, uncriticized, unthreshed general
idea may have on the mental life of an individual. It is an object-
lesson of the fate awaiting all those who neglect to think their
presuppositions out, and to pound them thoroughly in the crucible
of criticism before yielding to their sway.
THE ORIGINAL CHILD.
BY KATHERINE KENNEDY.
ANE said, when I invited her to my luncheon, that
she owned three children with personalities that did
not harmonize, and therefore she must stay home
and keep peace at the table. It seemed a foolish
sacrifice to me, and I suggested a certain old-fash-
ioned remedy that might enable her children to endure each other's
society for one brief repast, but Jane would not consider it. " I
believe," she said, " that each child has a right to its own person-
ality, and since I have three that naturally conflict, I must pay
the penalty." And such pride was there in her tone that my
sympathy died at its birth. It was this clear note of pride that
appeared again in Emily's voice, when, on my way from church,
I overtook her walking with her two young daughters. She was
a pattern for the modern matron, tall and elegant, between two
slender slips of herself. As I came up, the children stepped forward
and made such a pretty picture walking together in their cloaks
and bonnets of blue and brown, that I began to congratulate her
on possessing a pair so similar. " They are such perfect com-
panions," I said. Emily laughed softly. " They look like perfect
companions, but really they are not. You see," and it was here
that laughter gave way to pride, "they are such distinct indi-
vidualities; they cannot often agree."
I went my way wondering what promise these children gave
that prompted the pride in the maternal voice; what great gifts
were to be developed that would finally repay them for all the loss
they are now enduring; for the games that are started so blithely
and wrecked before the end; for the excursions that are planned
in happy zeal and abandoned in bad humor; for the hundred and
one diversions that depend upon the interest and help of several,
and are impossible to one child.
Emily is indeed the modem matron. And, like Jane, she is
sacrificing herself and her children in the eflFort to meet that newest
of modern demands, that parents and teachers preserve the indi-
viduality of the child. It is an order whose value is spoiled by its
vagueness. It should, I think, be accompanied by directions for
6i4 THE ORIGINAL CHILD [Aug.,
the process of preserving. The suggestion that parents first catch
the individual trait would be a good beginning. This definite direc-
tion would start activity, and activity would surely be a happy
change for parents. The sight they now display, as they sit helpless
and inert, admiring the erratic and useless sprouts the child nature
throws out is half -pathetic, half -absurd. Cultivation is neglected
in favor of a wilding growth ; the wisdom of Solomon is at last
denied, and the new, the amazing, is expected. Does Bobby drag
mud into the house and slam doors as he goes : he is but manifesting
the initiatiye and force of a future pathfinder. Does Marion
quarrel with regrettable readiness: is it not a sign of the artistic
temperament? Such crops of thistles are patiently endured by
parents in the hope of a profitable harvest. And while they wait,
they console themselves for many bruises by recalling the difficult
dispositions of genius; of Carlyle or Goethe or more probably of
Whistler. If it be claimed that Shakespeare was amiable, and so,
too, was Raphael, we are advised to advance nearer the twentieth
century. The mediaeval period is one that is not to be trusted for
dependable models. But look at A^Tiistler. They cannot be de-
ceived in Whistler. He appears in London, and is a law unto
himself in dress and in behavior. He wears a queer hat and a coat
that reaches to his heels. He invites people to dinner, and keeps
them and the dinner waiting while he splashes audibly in his bath.
He is a famous law breaker. He does as he pleases, yet at the same
time he justifies himself by producing a pure flower of original act.
Even at the cost of much discomfort, reflects the American parent,
it would be a brave thing to supply another Whistler for a wanting
and expectant country.
But how was Whistler educated for his distinguished part?
By what system was his mind trained, and yet left free and unre-
pressed for his future's work? It is strange but true that Whistler
instead of being the product of the laissez faire and the elective
system, was educated in the most exacting school in the world : the
military academy at West Point. Consequently, his mind was not
left free and unrepressed, but was vigorously cultivated and directed.
It was no doubt due to this stem method, that he showed such a
deep respect for establishled law. It was only in matters of dress
and in behavior that Whistler was a law unto himself; in art he
was obedient and compliant. He advises no exertion toward the
new, the undiscovered. He left us those few poetic words of advice
which St. Gaudens afterwards chose for his memorial tablet at
I9isl ?-//£ ORIGINAL CHILD 615
West Point (an endorsement that well doubles their worth) : " The
story of the beautiful is already complete, hewn in the marbles of
the Parthenon and broidered with the birds upon the fan of Hoku-
son." "The story of the beautiful is already complete" — ^then
may Bobbie step softly and close the door gently, for the way to
originality is often through a course of obedience.
" The best of originality is not that it be new," says Carlyle.
The best of originality is undoubtedly that it be true and brave;
and not recklessly brave but thoughtfully, knowingly brave. It is,
I think, generally acknowledged that truth can be cultivated in
children, but there is some disagreement as to the way to develop
bravery. It is commonly said that corporal punishment produces
cowards, and we have mercifully eliminated it. But the small boy
still holds a vigorous blow in high regard. While yet in infancy,
he learns that his courage in giving, his hardihood in withstanding,
gives him rank in the world of small boys. He gets his discipline
in spite of our effeminate conclusions. It was the beating received
from a bully that aroused the ambition of Sir Isaac Newton, and
the act of paying the compliment back in the same hardy coin first
convinced the great scientist of his own worth and power.
Originality is a sturdy growth, and one that does not require
careful nursing. " Under the mouldiest conventions a man of
native force prospers just as well as in the newest world," says
Emerson, and the life of Goethe, the most original man of the
nineteenth century, fittingly illustrates this assertion. Albert Biel-
schoveski thus describes the system of the elder Goethe : " His
systematic, exacting method forced all his children's individualities
into one rigid pedagogical mould; he always demanded tangible
evidence of utility, and insisted upon a consistency and perseverance
thoroughly distasteful to young children." The advocate of the
laissez faire idea and the elective system will no doubt say that I
quote a glorious exception to prove a rule. And yet, is it not true
that a goodly part of every distinct individuality is a certain power
of resistance? And is it not also true that resistance is developed
by opposing pressure rather than by laxity or freedom? It is not
a new thought that entire liberty produces a discotu-aging inertia.
The dear sister of Charles Lamb, commenting on the weakening
effect prosperity has had upon his passion for old prints, says:
" Now you have nothing to do but walk into Coluaghi's and buy
a wilderness of Leonardo's. Yet do you ? " And in the same way
it might be said of the student confronted with the elective system,
6i6 THE ORIGINAL CHILD [Aug.,
now he has h'berty to pursue the studies best fitted to his individual
development. Yet does he? And does the college to-day yield a
larger number of singular and original characters than it did in
Emerson's time?
In her very charming and sensible book on the education of
little children, the Dotoressa Montessori recommends her method of
discipline especially to her American readers, because it is based
upon liberty. Turning to the chapter on discipline, I find this:
"When the teachers were weary of my observations, they began
to allow the children to do whatever they pleased Then I had
to intervene to show with what absolute rigor it is necessary to
hinder and, little by little, suppress all those things that we must
not do, so that the child may come to discern clearly between good
and evil."
American parents are more consistent, but less wise. Not only
parents, but educators as well, hold the words " hinder " and " sup-
press " in deep disfavor. Theirs is indeed a doctrine of liberty and
a process of indiscriminate expansion. They provide an education
that does not enable the child to discern clearly between good and
evil. The result is that he too often mistakes the erratic for the
original, the discordant for the sincere. That is the reason the
inharmony among Jane's children causes pride. It is assuredly
no foundation for maternal hopes. It is but the ugly product of a
gaping space, and yet in such a vacancy Jane might plant something
beautiful and lasting; a friendship that would supply such happi-
ness and destroy no talents. A generation ago this would be every-
day wisdom, but now it is curiously held that cleverness is opposed
to goodness. " Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever."
But the modern parent wants his sweet maid clever. He has no
ambition to produce a female edition of the famous William Dobbin,
whose name implies, as Thackeray intended it should, that the char-
acter that is sincere and kind (though admirable) is as graceless
as a cart horse. However, after giving the good William full credit
for all his sturdy virtues, does he excel in sincerity or loving loyalty
that gay and quick-witted heroine, Elizabeth Bennett? Here we
have a character in which goodness and cleverness are blended in
equal measure. Here, too, we have a character as original as was
ever created. This famous and favorite child of Miss Austen's
genius may be studied with great profit.
What amazingly original thing does she do to earn her high
distinction? She hurries across country roads and fields to care
1915] THE ORIGINAL CHILD 617
for her sister who is sick at Netherfield. She enters the breakfast
room there and stands upright and serene, in her muddy boots and
skirts, before the contemptuous eyes of the elegant ladies who lived
there. She matches Darcy's pride with her own in a spirit of
brilliant impertinence. With touching resignation, she accepts his
harsh criticism of her family, because she sees that his words are
true. Her intelligence is revealed in flashes of gay talk. But see
her when the news of her sister's shameful elopement reaches her.
Her proud lover is in the room, but she is wild to be at home to
share the shame, to bear the burden. And later, when the family
is relieved by news of the necessary marriage, in the chorus that
expresses the family satisfaction, is heard one unselfish cry of com-
passion. It is Elizabeth's voice, which often has been heard in
irony and in sarcasm, which now cries : " Wretched as is his char-
acter, we are forced to rejoice, O Lydia." Like Whistler, Miss
Austen looked for nothing new. From the story of the beautiful in
character, she chose such qualities as the loyalty of Ruth, the gaiety
and independence of Rosalind, and added the honesty of her own
incomparable mind to fashion the most charming and original
heroine in English fiction.
We are told that Miss Austen had a rare genius for selection,
and this is a point which should interest those parents who, like
Emily and Jane, are engaged in developing the original child. For,
after all, the trial which life imposes before awarding her prize is
often, not a trial of adventure, but the trial which Shakespeare sets
for Portia's lover.
"Ah me, the word to choose ! " It is the fair Portia herself who
apprehensively murmers these words as she gazes on the hazardous
test which shall decide her fate. The word "choose," she feels,
is too closely related to chance. But when Bassanio, the soldier
and the scholar, stands before the three caskets, chance is sternly
eliminated. He has no need for such mysterious aid : a cultivated
mind produces the guides for a wise choice; a scholar's wisdom
and a scholar's sober taste prompts his scorn of mere ornament;
a soldier's courage dares the threat upon the leaden casket which his
cautious predecessors have evaded. It is all logical, it is all reason-
able, as Shakespeare shows. Bassanio had been trained to choose.
And by whom ? In the beginning, no doubt, by some quaint Venetian
matron who hated evil and loved the good, and who had, at the
same time, not the slightest concern or sympathy with the originality
of the child.
THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF PIUS X,
BY WILLIAM P. H. KITCHIN, PH.D.
UST a year ago Pius X., in many respects the most
striking and attractive figure amongst the Pontiffs of
recent times, was called to his reward. A large
volume* of close on a thousand pages has been pul>-
lished lately, in which the abundant and remarkable
legislation of his reign is given in extenso. It seems to be both
seasonable, and advisable as well, to bring before the general Catho-
lic public some, at least, of the saintly Pope's bold initiations and
notable achievements in Church government.
It was a moment as dramatic as any in ecclesiastical history
when, late in the evening of August 3, 1903, Cardinal Gruscha
rose in the Conclave assembled to elect a successor to Leo XIII.,
and communicated Austria's veto against Cardinal Rampolla. Till
then the great Cardinal had received the majority of votes, but
a few more were needed to make the requisite two-thirds. The
exercise of Austria's veto brought about the election of Cardinal
Sarto, who assumed the name of Pius X. The new Pope was
sixty-eight years of age, of humble birth, without any special attain-
ments, but remarkable for his holy life and his success in all the
grades of pastoral ministry. Yet he was destined, during the eleven
years of his reign, to modify profoundly old customs, and to inaug-
urate changes which for many decades to come will perpetuate
his memory and his name.
On ascending the Papal throne, Pius X. immediately manifested
that simplicity and amiability which had characterized him all
through life. He was the declared foe of unnecessary ceremony,
and he quietly but firmly put aside the extremely rigid etiquette
which until then had prevailed at the Vatican. He refused to allow
anyone to kiss his foot; he would not permit persons received in
private audience to kneel during the interview; he repeatedly
invited even simple priests to his table. When it was pointed out to
him that the Pope always used to dine alone, he replied, " If Urban
VIII. had the right to make that rule, Pius X. has the right to
^Jus Planum, By A. M. Micheletti. 974 PP. in 4to. Apud Marietti, Augusts
Taurinorum.
1915.I THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF PIUS X. 619
abolish it." He dispensed also with various servants and equipages
which he did not believe essential. The Swiss guards were reduced
in number; out of a large stud of horses only two were retained
for his rare drives in the Vatican gardens. " What does an old
man need seven cooks for," he asked, " to make him a bowl of
soup? " and the chefs too had to go. These changes, small in them-
selves, were very symptomatic of the new pontificate. They showed
that the Pope was modem in the best sense of that word, that he
was determined to move with the times, and meet all their good
impulses more than half-way. They were also realizations in his
own home and life of the beautiful words he had made the device
of his reign, " To restore all things in Christ." Nor was his
preaching every Sunday in the Cortile di San Damaso a less striking
or less significant innovation. Not since the days of Innocent VI.
(1352- 1 362) had a Pope preached in public; but Pius X. was
anxious to give an example in his own person of that fatherly
solicitude towards the flock which afterwards he enjoined on all
the pastors of the world.
The Holy Father was barely three months reigning when his
decree concerning Church music was promulgated, November 22,
1903. Shortly after he ordered a new edition of the Gregorian
chant, and again and again in letters to cardinals, bishops, and noted
sacred musicians such as Abbe Haberl and Dom Pothier, he showed
unmistakably the importance he attached to these liturgical reforms.
The Pope looked on Church music as a prayer, meant to aid the
faithful and to stimulate their devotion; he was determined to
banish from choirs whatever did not tend directly to that end.
With the same object in view, that of increasing fervor and
devotion, the Pope modified considerably existing discipline con-
cerning the reception of Holy Communion. He was particularly
anxious that children should be admitted to the Holy Table as early
as possible; he wished them, and indeed all the faithful, to aim
at daily Communion, for he saw in that Divine Food the preserver
of childish innocence and the inspirer of youthful ideal ; while with
regard to the sick he permitted that those who had been ill a month,
and did not show signs of speedy recovery, might receive Holy
Communion twice a week without fasting if they lived under the
same roof with the Blessed Sacrament, and twice a month if the
Sacred Host had to be brought to them in their homes. Only those
accustomed to pastoral ministry can fully realize what a boon the
Pope thereby conferred on the sick. In the case of many diseases,
620 THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF PIUS X. [Aug.,
such as consiunption and fevers, it is almost impossible for the
patient to remain all night without a drink, and it was extremely
difficult to square practice and theory under the old discipline.
A similar benignant idea — namely, to increase devotion but
at the same time harmonize old customs to new needs and condi-
tions — ^presided over the reform of the breviary, perhaps the most
far-reaching change inaugurated under the late Pontiff. Another
Pius, fifth of the name, reduced the breviary to the form we are
accustomed to see. Two centuries later Benedict XIV., the most
learned of all the Popes, intended to subject it to a thorough
revision, but time and life failed him. It was reserved to Pius X.
to take up, and carry to an admirable, devotional, and successful
conclusion, this great undertaking. This latest reform of the
breviary embraces two distinct parts. The first is a new division
of the Psalter into seven separate parts, so that special prayers are
appropriated for each day, and all the hundred and fifty Psalms
are recited within the course of each week. This new edition
of the Psalter accompanied the Bull DtTnno Afllatu, and came into
immediate use some three years ago. Another part (not likely
to appear for several years yet), projected by the Pope and put
into the hands of a commission by him for adequate study and
investigation, is a complete revision of the Lives of the Saints
contained in the breviary, and of the Missal as well. Here, again,
one cannot help remarking the splendid sanity of our late Holy
Father, and the wisdom with \vhich he adapted means to ends.
The long Sunday offices of Lent and Advent, under which every
busy pastor must have groaned times innumerable, were suppressed
altogether, and a short office substituted, which can be said with
devotion by the ordinary mortal.
Pius X., though no scholar himself, was yet always mindful of
the claims of scholarship, and he was careful to group around him
men whose varied erudition and culture might shed lustre on the
Church. Indeed he fully merits the name of the Papal Justinian,
for what the ancient emperor did for the heterogeneous legislation
of his vast dominions, Pius has done for the laws of the Church.
Had the Pope attempted nothing more than the Codification of
Canon Law, that alone would have sufficed to immortalize his reign.
On January 19, 1904, he signed the decree Arduum Sane, in which
he announced his intention of codifying the canons, and he appointed
a Board of Cardinals to take the task in hand. As Secretary to
this cardinalatial commission he chose the greatest living canonist,
1915] THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF PIUS X. 621
Monsignor Gasparri, then Archbishop of Caesarea and Secretary to
the Congregation of Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Affairs, to-day
Cardinal Secretary of State to Benedict XV. A few weeks later
a circular letter from the Secretary of State (March 25, 1904),
announced to the episcopate of the world the project, and gave
the names of certain consultors of international reputation. Shortly
after, April 6, 1904, Monsignor Gasparri wrote to all Catholic uni-
versities, asking the collaboration of their Professors of Canon
Law in drawing up the preliminary sketches for the chapters and
divisions of the proposed codification. The work has been pro-
gressing since; about eighteen months ago portions of it were
sent to bishops, and they were asked to make any suggestions or
criticisms they might deem advisable. A considerable time must
yet elapse before this gigantic task will be completed; but certain
specimens have already seen the light, and have even been put into
practice. Among these, so to speak, advance excerpts from the
future code may be mentioned : the decree Ne Temere, August 2,
1907, which prescribed a new discipline in matrimonial procedures;
the decree Maxima Cura, which laid down new rules for the
removal of pastors; the decree A Remotissvna, December 31, 1909,
which modified the dispositions of Benedict XIII. and Benedict
XIV. concerning the visits of bishops to the Holy See, and which
also laid down new formulas to be followed by the bishop in the
official Relatio on his diocese; the catabgue of the privileges of
Cardinals, which was published December 20, 191 1.
The legislation enacted by the late Pontiff concerning the mem-
bers of religious orders and students at seminaries is extremely
abundant. One would say that he was haimted by the preoccupa-
tion of making the members of the clergy, both regular and secular,
as perfect as possible. Thus a decree of July 16, 1905, obliged
every candidate for orders in Rome to pass an examination before
the Cardinal- Vicar. In the following year this regulation was
extended to all Italy and the adjacent islands. The decree Ecclesia
Christi, September 7, 1909 (similar to the decree Vetuit, December
22, 1905, for seminarians), strictly forbade to receive as novices
or to admit to profession persons expelled from religious or lay
colleges for misconduct, those who had been dismissed from an
order either as novices or professed, and those professed members
who had obtained dispensation from their vows. But nowhere is
the Pope's zeal for a saintly and self-sacrificing clergy more clearly
seen or more earnestly expressed than in his magnificent Exhortatio
622 THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF PIUS X. [Aug.,
ad Clerutn Catholicum, August 4, 1908. This encyclical letter,
published on the fiftieth anniversary of his own ordination, ex-
presses in the clearest manner the aims and ambitions of his whole
pontificate. " Our chief desire is to see entirely worthy of their
mission, those who have assumed the burden of the priesthood
G)nsequently, as soon as we were raised to the supreme pastorate,
We thought it Our duty to urge Our venerable brothers, the
bishops of the Catholic world, to devote all their care to forming
Christ in those whose mission it is to form Christ in others
We beg^n our exhortation, dear sons, by urging on you that sanctity
of life which your dignity requires." The Pope, too, was most
anxious that the studies of Religious should be thoroughly adequate
for the right fulfillment of their duties later. By a declaration
of September 7, 1909, he laid down the proficiency novices should
have acquired previous to ordination. In a subsequent decree,
December 17, 1909, he maintained still more strongly the doctrine of
his former declaration; while by the decree Ad Explorandum,
August 27, 1910, he signified that he did not consider it expedient
to neglect study entirely during the period of noviceship. Another
notable pronouncement on the religious life is the decree Sacrosanta
Dei Ecclesia, January i, 191 1, which regulates the solemn profession
of lay members of religious orders. Its main provisions are as
follows: (i) the length of the postulate is fixed at a minimum
period of two years; (2) the noviceship may not commence until
the subject is twenty-one, and is to last at least one year; (3)
then follows profession with simple vows for six years; (4) only
after these many steps may solemn profession be granted, and this
too is null unless the subject has completed his thirtieth year.
Many more pages might be filled without completing the cata-
logue of the holy Pontiff's activities in the various departments of
Church government ; for instance, his condemnation of modernism ;
his endeavors to promote the teaching of the Catechism ; his reform
of the Curia and the Roman Congregations ; his removal of Canada
and the United States, which until then had been considered " Mis-
sion Countries," from the jurisdiction of the Propaganda, and his
bringing them under the regular discipline and procedure of the
Church; his wise dispositions for the conduct of future conclaves
assembled to elect a Pope. But in order not to encroach too much
on space, I shall refer to merely one other point, destined to have
far-reaching results and too important to be omitted. By the con-
stitution Commissum Nobis, January 20, 1904, he utterly and for-
I9IS.] THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF PIUS X. 623
ever abolished the right of veto which (within certain narrow limits)
Austria, France, and Spain had been permitted to exercise over
Papal elections. Any person presuming to present such veto, even
indirectly, was punished by immediate excommunication, the absolu-
tion from which was expressly reserved to the future Pope.
From this brief summary, it is evident that Pius X. possessed,
to a high degree, the rare gift of prudent government, and consum-
mate skill in the choice of instruments, and the adaptation of means
to ends. Not a distinguished writer like Cardinal Capecelatro, not
a deep theologian like Cardinal Satolli, not a trained diplomat and
elegant scholar like Cardinal RampoUa, still the ensemble of his
qualities, the balance and equipoise of his mind were most admirable
and effective. His spirituality inflamed the piety of all his children ;
his zeal and independence prompted him to prune away abuses
unsparingly, to promote learning and initiative, to direct Catholic
activities into new avenues of endeavor.
And just as remarkable as the wisdom of his rule was the
beautiful, kindly simplicity of his life. Unspoiled by power, un-
changed by elevation, he ever remained a true and tender-hearted
pastor. Fond of children and of the poor, enjoying a chat and an
amusing story, deeply attached to his old sisters, amidst all the
glories of the Vatican, his heart and life were those of a holy old
country cure. And what could be more pathetic or self-sacrificing
than his refusal to provide for those sisters he loved so well? He
would not lay anything aside for them, but he besought his successor
to grant them a small monthly pension for their declining years.
That little anecdote mirrors perfectly the unworldliness of Pius
X., and his trusting, childlike nature; and no doubt, too, but that
it will be told in centuries to come to his honor, and will shine
resplendent when more showy deeds have long since been buried
in oblivion.
THE CAPTAIN'S RING.
BY ANNA T. SADLIER.
I.
LE Mammy sitting in state on the cushioned armchair
which had been sent down for her use, from the big
house to the comfortable cottage that had been built
for her by her former master, Mr. Edward Sewall,
with a vivid hued turban upon her head, a bright
colored dress of striped gingham, and strings of beads about her
neck, was not unlike one of those gorgeous peonies that adorned
the garden at the back. Mammy had been a slave, and looked back
even yet with a mingling of melancholy and a tinge of regret to
" dem agonizing slavVy days," of which she often sang in a voice,
once melodious, but now cracked with age. The truth was that she
had known little of the horrors of slavery and felt all its compensa-
tions, having been passed from one Catholic family to another in
early childhood.
She had been now for a term of years the beloved freed
slave of the Sewall family, with whose fortunes she had always
identified herself. In particular she had attached herself to the sole
daughter, now at home, of the present owner of the Sewall home-
stead, who had been named from some French ancestor. Marguerite.
The girl was of a peculiar whiteness of complexion — thrown into
relief by chestnut-brown hair — and it showed almost transparent in
the light. Mammy who had been her nurse often told with a
chuckle how Marguerite, as a child, had stood before her one day,
and looking up into the ebony face had inquired earnestly :
" Mammy, I wonder why you are so black? "
" I dunno, chile," the nurse had replied, " excep' de clay got
burned in de cookin* ! "
Marguerite, much distressed at the suggestion, had exclaimed,
" Oh, poor mammy ! " Then she had added, thoughtfully, looking
down upon her own milk-white hand which lay near that of the
negress, " Praps, Mammy, I wasn't done enough."
" Bless de chile ! " Ole Mammy used to say, in telling the story,
" you is jes' superfine clay."
I9IS] THE CAPTAIN'S RING 625
And superfine clay Marguerite Sewall was. Not only as to
her appearance, which remained delicate and fragile despite her ex-
cellent health, but in her qualities of mind and heart. She was
still quite young when, by the death of her mother, she became the
mistress of her father's luxurious mansion, to every department of
which she attended with a scrupulous fidelity, that made it
the model establishment of the country. She took earnestly to
heart the sorrows and joys of the humblest of their dependents,
those who lived under her roof, or those who occupied the adjacent
cabins. Idolized by the servants and by such of the freed slaves
who still lived upon the Sewall estate, she constituted the chief joy
of Edward Sewall himself.
Improved and modernized, the dwelling over which Marguerite
presided, was one of those which had been built long ago by the
first Catholic settlers who had sailed up the Chesapeake, and had
brought to the New World, with the Cross, the first complete
exemplar not only of religious liberty, but of religious equality for
all. Marguerite's great grandfather had been one of those gallant
gentlemen who, under the first Lord Baltimore, had fled from
religious persecution in the Old World, and after founding " the
land of the sanctuary " for the oppressed of all creeds, had lived to
become the victim of Puritan intolerance.
Marguerite Sewall's childhood had been nourished upon those
tales of Catholic chivalry which forever illustrates the history of
Maryland. She was conversant with the story of The Ark and The
Dove, coming up the broad stream to make peaceful negotiation
with the Indians for the lands that had been assigned to them by the
British sovereign. She had never tired of hearing of Fathers
White and Altham, of the intrepid John Lewger, convert and finally
priest; and of Father Fitzherbert boldly defending before the
persecuting Council his right to preach and teach in the Name of
Christ. She knew the names and the particular exploits of each one
of those Catholic gentlemen who had resisted, some of them
unto death, the aggression of the infamous Coode and his horde of
fanatics who, resembling certain unprincipled agitators of the
present day, strove with lying stories to subvert that liberty which
the Catholics had established. And amongst them all. Marguerite,
as a child, had singled out Henry Darnall, who had borne himself
so bravely in those struggles of the past, and who had somehow
appealed more than all the rest to her imagination. She had pro-
cured a picture of her hero, which was still hanging in her room,
VOL. a.— 40
626 THE CAPTAIN'S RING [Aug.,
and around that handsome head she had woven all sorts of
romances.
This preference on her part had been fostered not a little by
old Mammy, who had numberless stories to tell about "de ole
families," but most of all concerning the Damalls, who long ago had
been masters of the nearest plantation to the Sewalls, from which, in
fact, a whole wilderness had separated them, and had been the
intimate friends of the latter. It was on that plantation that
Mammy had first seen the light. Her parents had been slaves there,
and so she had always felt her allegiance to be divided between
the two families.
II.
One exquisite summer evening Marguerite had gone down for
a chat with Mammy, which she knew to be one of the old woman's
chief pleasures. For few were so willing to listen to all that the
latter had to tell of the brave days of old. Mammy's armchair had
been brought out of doors, that she might enjoy the balmy flower-
scented air. Some hundreds of yards distant they could see, as
they sat, the river full of memories, stained with the orange and
crimson and fiery scarlet of a gorgeous sunset. Up in the trees
above some birds were singing the last peaceful notes that heralded
the calm of the night. Mammy, inspired by the view of the river,
or the beauty of the scene, began to tell of the days, which her
mother had remembered well, when ocean ships could sail up to the
very shores of the greater plantations. Merchantmen offered their
splendid cargo of gold and gems, rich silk from the Orient, pre-
serves and spices, for the inspection of the planters, sometimes mak-
ing advantageous sales, but tlieir officers always enjoying that
hospitality which knew no limits. The freedom of the great houses
was theirs, and in return they often bestowed curious or costly
presents.
Marguerite was sitting on a low stool at Mammy's side, listen-
ing, for the hundredth time, to one of her nurse's favorite stories.
With even more than her usual dramatic eloquence, with many a
gesture of her ebony arms and a rolling of her eyes, the old woman
told how, one day, had come to the Damall plantation a large
brigantine, sailing under an unknown flag, and displaying so won-
derful a cargo that it began to be whispered amongst those who
had gathered on the beach, and the slaves who hovered about, that
1915] THE CAPTAIN'S RING 627
this must surely be one of those pirates whose nefarious doings
were just then filling the imagination of men in the colonies of
America, and whose ill-gotten gains were procured by robbery upon
the high seas, and often by the murder of some vessel's officers and
crew. The captain, a bronzed and bearded man, had something
wild and fierce in his aspect, or so it seemed to those who had
persuaded themselves of his lawless character.
Mr. Damall, the elder, who was at that time a paralytic, was
so impressed by the tales that were carried to his invalid chair, that
he departed from the usual procedure of bidding the ship's captain
and his officers welcome to the house. He compromised, however,
by dispatching one of the slaves with wine and other refreshments
upon a silver salver. The captain, as it appeared, fully understood
the reason of the planter's departure from ordinary usage. He
drank the wine, however, with a loud and scornful laugh at the
terror of the negro who offered it, and when he had finished it he
threw into the cup, " in payment," he said, " of his reckoning,"
a priceless ruby, set in a circlet of richly wrought gold. To the
master of the house he sent a message, to the effect that in mistak-
ing an honest privateer for a pirate, he had furthermore offended
one who had fought at a Damall's side, against Ingle and his ship.
The Reformation. When the proprietor heard this he sent for
the captain, but the latter, in high dudgeon, sailed away with
his brigantine, his wonderful cargo of rich stuffs and of gold
and gems from the Orient, and only the ring remained to tell of his
presence. That ring had been religiously preserved in the family
to the present time.
As Mammy concluded her story with a flourish, a voice, so
near as to cause both the old woman and the young to start, cried
with a laugh which concealed enthusiasm, " Those must have been
jolly, old days, Mammy."
Now while Mammy had talked, the iridescent glow had faded
from the surface of the water, a solitary star had come out tremu-
lously, and the pale gold of a crescent moon showed above the tree
tops. In this gathering gloom, startled as were the two women
by the voice, they were still more alarmed at the glimpse which they
caught of its owner. There stood just behind Mammy's chair a
tall and slim young man, with peculiarly clear, gray eyes, a smiling
mouth, and a carriage of the head which Marguerite at once recog-
nized, not without a cold chill of fear, that seemed momentarily to
paralyze her. For here, standing before her, was apparently the
628 THE CAPTAIN'S RING [Aug.,
original of her long-cherished portrait. If the dead could come back
to life, surely that was Henry Darnall and no other. Mammy who
was looking over her shoulder at the apparition, with inarticulate
murmurings of terror, was clearly of the same opinion.
Marguerite, who was by nature and training fearless, almost
immediately shook off her tremor, and inwardly laughed at the
notion, that the gay and gallant youth of her romance, with his
satins and laces and curling locks upon his shoulders, could appear
thus before her in a suit of gray tweeds, with a tennis cap set
jauntily upon his closely-trimmed hair. She glanced at Mammy,
and saw that she, too, had been stricken with amazement, almost
terror. She was muttering to herself : " Dat certainly am he.
Fore de Lawd, dat ain't no oder." Nor did Marguerite realize
that the old woman was thinking of her erstwhile master, while
her own mistake had gone back a generation farther.
The young man, quite unconscious of what was passing in.
Mammy's mind, and unaware of her companion's presence, leaned
lightly on the back of the old woman's chair. His question, which
had been directed to the negress, and his unceremonious interruption
of the conversation, had been due to the fact that he presumed
Mammy to be merely discoursing to some pickaninny. But now
the young mistress of Sewall Hall asserted herself. She rose
from the low seat, fair and stately as a lily ; her face more trans-
parently white than ever in the faint ray of the early moon as it
moved through purple shadows. Her shimmering, white gown fell
about her in soft, graceful folds that added to her ethereal appear-
ance. Her eyes were fixed in inquiry upon the young man's face.
It was the intruder's turn to be startled, and more than that, to
receive an impression which he never lost of a beauty rare and
delicate, thrown into relief by the ebony blackness of Mammy's ,
face. There was, too, a distinction of bearing that accorded well
with the surroundings, and a hint, likewise, of something that was
spiritual above and beyond the things of earth. There was an
instant's pause, then the young man's cap was off and he was
bowing low, as his prototype of the portrait might have done, with
a hasty apology.
" I am sure I beg your pardon for my interruption, but I really
could not help listening to the story, and the truth is I only saw
old Mammy. I wanted to ask her if I am on the Sewall plantation ?"
Marguerite answered that he was, wondering who this could be
that had any doubt upon that subject. The young man, still in awe
1915] THE CAPTAIN'S RING 629
of her manner and appearance, which suggested that she had stepped
out of a frame from some distant century, continued his explanation
with some embarrassment :
" The fact is I came over to call upon Mr. Sewall, who is, I
understand, my nearest neighbor, as well as an old friend of our
family. I am Henry Darnall."
Such a thrill as passed through Marguerite at the mention of
that name, and once more the indescribable feeling that the impos-
sible had happened, and that her century-old hero had sprung into
life and youth. Her emotion for an instant was almost as great,
as though she had been confronted by a veritable renascence of the
original of that portrait which had been the centre of many a girlish
dream.
No modern hero could have produced such an impression upon
this girl, who had been brought up aloof and distant, and with a
singular indifference, to all the young men of her cicrle, some of
whom were quite ready to offer her their attentions. Of course this
modern Henry Darnall could not possibly suspect the train of
thought that, for a disturbing moment or two, occupied the girl's
mind. He was only conscious of the sweetness of the smile with
which she received the annoyncement of his name, and the cordial-
ity of the handshake with which, as Miss Sewall, she welcomed him
to the place. It was that same milk-white hand which had been
contrasted in childhood with old Mammy's, according to the latter's
narrative, and the young man noted that whiteness as it lay for an
instant in his own.
Miss Sewall gave him a cordial invitation to accompany her to
the house, where her father would be most happy to meet the son of
an old friend. Indeed, though she did not say so, hospitality was
so much the law of that region, that even an accredited stranger,
with the slightest possible claim on their good will, would have
been made welcome. Mammy, meanwhile, who had never taken
her eyes off the young man's face, kept muttering to herself:
" Massa Henry Darnall what give me, when I was a pickaninny,
to Miss Anne for her birthday."
And so the bewildered old woman sat, after Marguerite had
bidden her an affectionate " good-night," advising her not to stay
out much longer, to which the pleasant-voiced young man added a
word of farewell. She watched the two walk away together,
unconscious of her mistake. The colors of Mammy's turban, her
bright hued dress and the beads about her neck had faded : " All
630 THE CAPTAIN'S RING [Aug.,
cats look gray by night," says the French proverb. Even the
blackness of her ebony skin seemed neutral tinted in the faint light
of the young moon and the sparsely sprinkled stars. She stared after
the two who had gone, as long as they were in sight, and until the last
glimmer of Missa Marguerite's white dress had disappeared amongst
the trees. She was pondering deeply, the generations all confused
in her mind; for she was remembering vividly how in another
evening, long ago, she had watched another Henry Damall walk-
ing home through a plantation with a pretty, white-robed girl,
whom in the neg^ess' thoughts she called Miss Anne, and who,
disregarding his suit, had married Edward Sewall, the son of her
guardian, and had been the mother of Marguerite.
" De good Lawd knows I must be gettin' ole," she said, " and
my eyes can't see clear. But ef that ain't Massa Henry Damall come
back again to court the daughter, like he courted the mother, then
my wits is clean gone."
That story of human life, carried on with but little variation
from generation to generation, with its tangles and its cross pur-
poses, its vicissitudes, gay and tragic, was too much for her old,
tired brain. And growing drowsy with the effort, she called for
her son to move her chair in, and let her go to bed. Nor did she
say anything to him of that disturbing incident.
" For what's de use of talkin' to dem young folks, who didn't
know nuthin' about what a moighty fine race dem Damalls wuz,
mos' as fine as de Sewalls."
Her intuition was correct; for the Darnall homestead had
been long shut up and neglected. Henry Darnall, the father of
this young man, had gone away at the time of Edward Sewall's
marriage, and was supposed to be living in England or France.
And now in old Mammy's mind was confusion, and she fell asleep
thinking that " only de good Lawd knowed ef that wam't a sperrit
dey had seen dat night."
Of course up at the Sewall homestead, the visitor was clearing
up all the confusion in a plain, straightforward manner. He told
how, at his dying father's request, he had come back from the far
coasts of Brittany to open up the old manor house, and to take up the
old life. He was familiar with Maryland, her history, the names
and characteristics of most of her old families, of which his father
had unremittingly talked. Sewall Hall, in particular, where his
father had played as a boy and visited on the most intimate terms
as a young man, was as well known to him almost as though he
I9IS.] THE CAPTAIN'S RING 631
himself had played and visited there. It was not, therefore, in
the slightest degree surprising that he should soon find himself,
as his father had done, on a footing of the easiest and pleasantest
intimacy.
Nor is it to be wondered at that fascinated as he had been
from the first by Marguerite, from her spirit-like appearance to
him before old Mammy's cabin, and after he had seen her as
mistress of her father's house, Henry Darnall should very soon
ardently desire to see her installed as the mistress of another manor
and an adjacent plantation. In the event of* such a union, her
father would, it is true, sorely miss her, but another daughter was
returning that summer froni the Visitation Convent at Georgetown
to take her sister's place in the household.
Nor did Marguerite offer the faintest opposition to the young
man's suit. She, who had been so distant, so unapproachable with
other admirers, until it had been commonly believed thereabouts
that she would never marry, accepted from the first, as a foregone
conclusion, that she should marry this latest Henry Darnall. She
had the curious feeling that she had given him her heart in child-
hood, and that it had been a plighted troth which she was bound
to keep. She scarcely asked herself if the handsome, modem
young suitor measured up to that ideal which she had formed of her
old hero. Probably she took it for granted that he had, and that
under similar circumstances, he would comport himself as loyally
and as bravely as had done his ancestor. Of one thing she was
certain, that his Catholic faith, which had been nourished in that
land of unchangeable fidelity, Brittany, was as ardent, as uncompro-
mising as her own. It, in fact, was one of the subjects upon which
the newcomer was moved to the greatest enthusiasm, and that in
itself went far to win Marguerite's heart.
The young lover had a slightly weird and uncomfortable feeling
when he was told the whole story, and it became clear to him
that he had been first loved as someone else. The portrait was
shown to him, and he was forced to admit a startling resemblance.
He heard, with a mixture of pride and amusement, the story, which,
of course, was not new to him, of his grandfather's achievements
in the fighting line, in defence not only of the Catholic faith, but
of civil liberty as well. He was, however, so infatuated with the
lovely girl he had chosen, that he would have accepted her on far
harder conditions than that he should, in her fancy, at least, always
remain slightly subordinated to another.
632 THE CAPTAIN'S RING [Aug.,
So it was on another exquisite evening when old Mammy sat
out, more resplendent than ever, in her gaudy turban and striped
gown, that Marguerite, kneeling beside her, showed the ring which
Henry Damall had placed on her finger in betrothal. It was a
jewel of price, with the glow of Oriental mystery in its depths and
its setting of richly wrought gold, quaint and curious in the extreme.
It was, in fact, the captain's ring. To Marguerite it was doubly
precious, because of its traditions. To Mammy it was an object
of awe. She glanced timidly at it, while the clear voice of her
young mistress exclaimed :
" To think, Mammy, that I should wear on my finger the
captain's ring, and that it should be put there by Henry Darnall,
whom I have always loved."
" De captain's ring," cried Mammy, her eyes rolling wildly,
with something like terror at the sight; "but as for de young
gentleman, bless de chile, you only knowed him sence las' June."
" In my mind," said Marguerite, between laughter and solem-
nity, " the two seem to be one. It is the same Henry whose pic-
ture I have had in my room, and whom I have worshipped all those
years."
Then the laughter overcame the solemnity and she added:
" But I will confess that this Henry is just a little nearer and
dearer, and I suppose, in time, he will make me forget that there
ever was another."
" He surely will," old Mammy asseverated heartily, " he mos'
sartainly will." Then she added thoughtfully : " De curiousest
thing am, dat between dem two Massa Henry's yours and mine,
dere was an older one, dat mos* broke his heart, for your own
mother."
Tears gathered in Marguerite's soft eyes at that new romance,
of which she had never chanced to hear. But Mammy returning
to her former theme exhorted : "Don't you make no mistake, honey !
Dis am de real Massa Henry. Dat oder ain't nuthin''but a shadow."
Marguerite, chiding her, with a faint touch of resentment, for
what seemed like disloyalty to the past, felt the whiteness of her
cheek stained by a glow of pleasure, at the voice of Henry Darnall
behind her:
" Well, Mammy," it said, " have you forgiven me for not being
my own father ? "
" An' dis chile hyar," chuckled Mammy, " lubbin' you, Massa
Henry, at first sight, 'cause she took you for your grandpa."
THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY.^
(Taken from the version made from original MSS. by Mary A. Hutton.)
BY EMILY HICKEY.
The Finding of the Tain.
ARVAWN, the Swineherd-Saint of Erin, laid on the
aged poet, Shencawn, to ask the poets of Erin if any
of them could relate the Tain Bo Coolney from be-
ginning to end ; but none knew it except in fragments,
for the book of it had been lost in Latin lands. And
Shencawn, again at Marvawn's bidding, went forth to the search for
it, with his band of a hundred and fifty poets, and traveled through-
out Erin, but in vain. "And they all were weary, gloomy, down-
cast, and in sorrow."
They begged of the King of Leinster a boat wherein they
might sail to Alba, and this being granted, they went over " the
white-blossomed sea," and in Alba searched north, south, east and
west, and in vain. Sadly they returned "o'er the proud-voiced
ocean" to Ath-Cleea (Dublin) "weary, downcast, and in sorrow."
There they behold Neev (Saint) Caillin and they go with him to
Marvawn, who tells them that none of the living or of the dead can
tell the entire story of the Tain except Fergus Son of Roy. By
Marvawn's instructions, they send messengers to the chief Saints
^The Tdin, an Irish Epic Told in English Verse. By Mary A. Hutton. This
book, the result of ten years' careful and ardent labor, is, the author tells us,
"an attempt to tell the whole story of the Tdin in a complete and artistic form."
It is with the desire to do something to spread the knowledge to which Mrs.
Hutton has so materially contributed, the knowledge of the old classical literature
of Ireland, in this, the great chief epic of her ancient days, that the present
writer, no scholar.
Only a learner,
Swift one or slow one,
ventures to tell something of the treasure so liberally poured out in ancient time.
As an historical study, the knowledge of this poem is extremely valuable,
as long ago it was pointed out by a scholar of a past generation to whom much
gratitude is owing: the late Professor Eugene O'Curry. For here we find what
the manners and customs were in Ireland somewhere about the beginning
of the Christian era; here we have the beliefs that influenced the lives; here the
extraordinarily high code of chivalry, side by side with what can only be called
ferocity ; and these exemplified in one and the same person ; here, high intellectual
life, the valuing of learning and the acquiring of the art of speaking " white words
of wisdom." But, as nothing that can claim the title of art or literature is valuable
merely in a sense historical or ethnological, or even ethical, we must consider
634 TME STOkY OP THE TAin BO COOLNEV [Aug.,
of Erin to come and keep a fast to God of three days and nights,
" That He may send them Fergus to relate The Tain Bo Coolney
wholly." So the chief Saints go forth with the aged poet, and at
last find the grave of Fergus, and offer prayers and fasting that Fer-
gus may be sent to them.
The Saints, of each of whom we have a delightful description,
are seven in number. Then Shencawn calls on Fergus, because of
the Saints* supplications to Jesus Christ, to come forth and tell the
great old story.
A mighty mist surrounds them and Fergus comes forth from his
grave, beautiful as in his prime of manhood, robed as of yore and
armed with his great sword of the golden hilts.
The Saints, in their courtesy, will not hear him until he sits
the T&in in the light of a great poem around whose central personality, Cucullin,
the reputed son of Sooaltim and Dectora, sister to King Conor, but in reality
begotten of the strain of the great dae Danann, the gods of the underworld,
there circles beauty and strength, patriotism, loyalty in friendship and in love,
gladness and sorrow. In various of the other characters also are to be found
that greatness which is the soul of the epos; that nobility along which we look
for the outpouring of its strains.
The word T&in means raid, a cattle-driver or foray. In olden days there was
in Ireland many a t&in, for cattle were the principal possession of the chiefs, and
the most necessary to own. The power of a chief, as far as possession went,
depended on the amount of live-stock that he owned. The land belonged to the
tribe, and any man who chose might have "a piece of bog, a piece of arable
land, and a piece of wood," which he paid for by service or tribute to his chief;
but it was not his to sell or to alienate. Cattle, utensils, clothing and ornaments,
were personal possessions. The great necessity, both in peace and war, was to have
or to gain possession of flocks and herds, and in war the need would, of course, be
far greater than in peace. Hence, as Miss Eleanor Hull says in her admirable
Text-book of Irish Literature, " Every great war was preceded by a series of
cattle-raids, which were designed to collect kine and other live-stock to serve as
provisions for the army, and many lengthy campaigns consisted either entirely
or for the main part not of a series of battles, but of a series of excursions into
the enemy's country, accompanied by the burning of villages, and the carrying
off of heads of cattle. To harry for 'wives and kine' was part of the employment
of a gentleman." Many as these raids were, however, the Raid of the Brown
Bull, the Donn of Coolney, is not on a level with any of them. To quote again
from Miss Hull : " But in the Epic of Ireland the common topic of a cattle-drive
is lifted far above the level of a tribal or a local episode; it takes the form of a
mythological warfare, in which gods and god-like heroes alike struggle for mastery.
We feel, as we read it, that we are in the presence of ideas that have for
the creators of the story a meaning and significance far beyond the actual signif-
icance of the events recorded. Though it has its origin in conditions of life
familiar to the nation, it is not as a cattle-raid, pure and simple, that we are
expected to regard it." And indeed, we are not dealing here with simple conditions
of primitive life, but with large utterance, behind which there is an utterance
larger still, an utterance which he that hath ears to hear let him hear.
The phonetic spelling adopted by Mrs. Hutton is here used throughout,
the usual Middle Irish forms being given in the list appended. I have, however,
left the fi in Coolney, (Cualgne), Mrs. Hutton's Cooley, on the authority of another
Irish scholar.
Tdin is pronounced Tahn,
I9IS.] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 635
down, for his own courtesy bids him to stand before them: and
there, mist-enfolded, the warrior come from the grave, teaches them
the history of the Tain as it had been acted in the old days, " Before
Neev Patrick brought the faith to Erin."^
The recovered Tain was written by Neev Kieran on " the won-
der-working hide of his dun cow," of which he made a noble book
that the history " might so be known in after-days in Erin."
I.
Of the rivalry between Maev and Al-yill. — Of the great Btdls of
Connaught and of Ulster and their transmigrations. — Of the re-
fusal of Dawra to lend the Donn as Maev had asked. — Of her
resolve to begin the foray.
We find as the opening of the Tain Story, what is known as
the "bolster-conversation" between Maev, Queen of Connaught,
and her husband, Al-yill. It is a true word, says Al-yill to his wife,
that it is a good thing to be the wife of a strong man. Maev assents,
but asks why he cites the word. He thinks she is in every way
better than on the day he came and took her. Not so, says Maev,
she was right well in power, strength and riches, before that day;
she was not, as her husband says, busied with woman's work, while
great prey and spoils were being borne oflf from her. This assertion
of his is strongly denied by Maev, who asserts herself as the noblest
and most distinguished of the High-King of Erin's six choice
daughters; the noblest in the bestowing of gifts (all through the
poem, as in other great early epics, this love of giving is a prominent
feature in those accounted great), the strongest in hard battle.
When sought again in marriage after the death of her husband,
King Tinny — ^she makes no mention of her relations with Conor —
she was sought in marriage, but was hard to please, asking a
wondrous bride-price, namely, that her husband must be as open-
handed as she herself, like her devoid of fear, and also devoid of
jealousy. These conditions she had found fulfilled by Al-yill, who
was b^utiful in his youth and strength in war, but not strong
enough ever to overcome her, or rule her while they lived. She
throws at him the taunt that he is a man upon a woman's main-
tenance, which he indignantly denies; but she cannot be satisfied
'Miss Hutton uses for the most part the later version, found in the Book of
Leinsttr. The earlier Book of the Brown Bull gives a different account of the
Finding of the T4in. We remember Ferguson's splendid use of this rendering
in his Quest of the Tdin.
636 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Aug,
until it is proved that the worth of her possessions is more than
that of her husband's, an assertion of hers which Al-yill stoutly de-
nies. The matter is put to the test, and the treasures of each of
them are brought forth for comparison. The " humble treasures,"
wooden drinking-mugs, two-eared vats, cruses, and iron vessels,
washing-troughs and tubs, come first; then the glorious ornaments
" radiant work of skillful goldsmiths," " and their apparel purple,
blue and green, yellow and black and striped and tawney-gray." All
these things are found of equal value on each side. Then come
the great sheep flocks, the herds of horses, and the immense droves
of swine : all equal in value as possessed by the king and the queen,
respectively. The inequality was to be revealed at last for, over the
droves of kine, in number and value alike for king and queen, there
reigned, on the king's side, a magnificent bull having a white head
and white hooves, a triple mane white as snow, and white horns
which the Connaught men had tipped with far-shining gold.
This was Findbenna, the " white-homed," calved by a cow of
Maev's herds, but gone over to the herds of the king because " he
had held it not famous nor illustrious to abide on woman's main-
tenance."
Nothing of all her possessions now seemed to Maev worth any-
thing; and MacRoth, the queen's messenger, was commanded to find
out whether anywhere in Erin there might be a bull equal to the
Findbenna, who reigned over Al-yill's herds. MacRoth knows
of one, the great Donn of Coolney, in the Ulster Fifth* of which
Dawra is the owner. MacRoth tells Maev of the splendor of this
bull, brown-black, with a dark mane and wide red eyes. His high
horns are decked with gold. He is of immense strength, impetuous,
vehement, swift, courageous. He has the lion's rage, the sea-
beast's ardor, the blow of the plunderer, the onset of the wood-bear.
He is the sire of immense herds. He can shelter a hundred warriors
from heat or cold beneath his far-spreading shade. " Fifty young
lads perform their childish games on his long level back."
His presence obliges ill spirits who would approach his abiding-place
to keep far off. " When he fares home to his own liss and shelter,"
the sound of his loud, deep, sweet cranndord (lowing) fills the men
of Coolney with music and gladness.
Here perhaps it is worth while to note the stream of description
which the old Irish poets delight in pouring forth. Their hyperbole
runs here and elsewhere more than easily into wild exaggeration;
'Ireland had five provinces.
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 637
and yet there is. a force underlying this exaggeration, and it gives
the impression of strength and greatness. It is interesting to notice
the using of the opposite extreme of Greek and Norse poets; the
expression of perfection by defect, as in the blind goddess of justice
and the one-eyed Odin.*
When MacRoth has finished his description, a Druid "of
might and knowledge " who has been standing near, tells Maev the
story of the bulls ; a story absolutely necessary for the understand-
ing of this cattle- foray, this Tain above Tdins. The bulls, the Find-
benna, the white-homed of Connaught, and the Donn, the Brown
one of Ulster, are no ordinary bulls, but great forms, the last
transmigrations of spirits once enclosed in human shape. At the
first, they were two swineherds, herding on two Danann kings. The
Danann were the old god-race, who, passing from the everyday
world, yet played an important part, as is seen in this poem.
Cucullin, the hero of the epic, is of their strain through his father,
the great Lugh; and their influence is prominent very often all
through the Tdin.
These swineherds were in perpetual contention, each striving to
cast thin-withering spells on the swine of the other until their kings
deprived them of their charge. Then they straightway became
ravens, whom men could hear in loud hoarse clamor contending
at the Sheeniounds, After this they were huge sea-beasts, dwelling
in Suir and Shannon, and again contending. Once more, in human
shape, they fought three days and nights ; then as two fighting stags,
and then as towering phantoms, in watching whose flight men died
for dread. Dragons they became, and even little water-worms.
Lastly they became bulls, whose meeting in night-lasting, man-ap-
palling combat was decreed by Destiny, as the Druid knew, though
he did not know which of them was decreed the victor.
MacRoth is sent to Ulster to borrow the bull for a year, with
the promise of a large reward to the owner, in addition to the price
of the loan.
MacRoth departs on his mission. On the same day there re-
turn from Ulster spies of Maev's who bring her their reports; and
Maev tells her daughter, Findabair, that, from what these have told
her, she knows that this is the time for the long-prepared-for hosting
into Ulster, for now no ill is likely to befall the Connaught invaders.
What is the reason, Findabair asks, of the ** marvelous hatred "
*In the description of the Donn of Cnolney many epithets have here been
omitted*
638 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Aug.,
borne by Maev to Ulster ? Maev tells her daughter the story of a
great and heavy wrong wrought her by Conor, and the arousing in
her breast of a great thirst for vengeance, never to be quenched
until she should see " red-sworded Conor pale in his death before "
her. She knows the bull will be refused, and this will give occasion
for the great hosting long prepared to trouble Ulster.
Maev's messenger and his retinue are welcomed in Coolney by
the owner of the Donn, and Maev's proposals accepted; but the
boast, among the inferiors of the mission, that had the Bull not been
yielded he would have been taken, is overheard, and exaggerated
in its repetition to Dawra. Dawra's anger is roused, and he wrath-
fuUy refuses to lend the Bull. Maev prepares to begin the foray,
swearing that the Brown Bull shall be brought to Croohan when
Ulster and Crithney are laid waste, and the Ulster women and
children are made captives, and the high-fortified green mounds are
levelled down.
II.
Of the Kesh of Ulster. — Of Fergus MacRoy and the exile of him,
and the love of him for CuctUlin, his foster son, — Of the
gathering of the Four Fifths of Erin, — Of the finding of tokens
of Cucullin, the Hound of Ulster.
The time at which the hosting against Ulster is undertaken
marks in Maev a grave lack of that chivalry which we find else-
where, most notably in Cucullin, the Ulster champion: for this
is the time at which the Ulster warriors are lying under the spell of
the Kesh, the curse of Maha, the victim of merciless cruelty on the
part of the Ulstermen. The Kesh (cess) was "a curse of torment and
of pain and weakness," as the pain and weakness of a travailing
woman; a curse that for nine generations should descend on the
Ulstermen at the time of the greatest need of their prowess. None
were to be exempt therefrom except women and children, " and him
who should be named Cucullin." It is because of this Kesh, under
which the Ulstermen, with Conor their king, are lying, that Cucullin
comes forward, as a single-handed champion, against the hosts of
Maev and her allies. All the Four Fifths of Erin are combined
against the Ulster Fifth.
With Maev is joined Fergus MacRoy, the great warrior, once
king of Ulster, and wrongfully dispossessed of his kingship by
Conor, whom yet he held in reverence and to whom he rendered
loyal service.
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 639
But he was made to suflfer a shameful wrong by this king. His
plighted word was broken through Conor's treacherous plan of
detaining him and preventing him from guarding Daerdra and the
sons of Usna to Awin Maha, as he had bound himself to do. His
honor was outraged by the treacherous assault upon those whom
he was pledged to guard, and their murder, at G>nor's instance, be-
fore they could reach his court. The story is one of the three great
sorrows of Irish story-telling. It has been beautifully told by Dr.
Joyce and others.
Here it is put into the mouth of the aged woman-poet, Lower-
cam, who had loved and tended Daerdra. She tells it while the hosts
of Maev are waiting for their allies. It is told by Maev's desire,
to kindle fresh wrath against Conor in the breast of Fergus.
After the recital of this story, Maev finds Fergus standing on
the Great Mound with his face toward Ulster, the Ulster that is his
own country, and which he loves with a passion never to be ex-
tinguished. It is in this intensity of love for kith and kin, struggling
in the exile's breast with his wrathful indignation and thirst for
revenge, and in the end gaining the victory, that there lies a great
dramatic as well as ethical interest
So ill has Conor used Fergus that two of his own sons have
taken the part of the wronged man, and dwell, as he does, with
Maev of Connaught. Before the exiles had come to the Queen's
country they had given red battle to the household of Conor : they
had put a fringe of fire round Awin, to bum it, and then gone forth
in their rage and wrath with all their folk unopposed by the Ulster-
men. " And yet though thus they put their own dear land
behind them, they could not put behind them their heart love for
Ulster."
The great gathering of the clans is told of ; the assembling of
the Four Fifths of Erin. Maev gives way for a little time to her
feelings of doubt, uncertainty and trouble. Her soliloquy may be
compared with that of Henry V. before Agincourt. She re-
flects on the multitudes who to-day are parting from kindred and
beloved ones, from territory and heritage, from father and mother.
She dreads the groans and sighs and curses they will strike upon her
if they do not return whole and unharmed. She has no true cer-
tainty of success or even of escape from dark death or capture with
shame and wrong and insult.
She goes to her Druid to " ask for prophecy and knowledge."
She would know " whether we, at least, ourselves, in safety from
640 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Aug.,
this hosting shall return." The Druid heartens her by telling her
how Conor, with all the Ulster chiefs and kings, lies in torment and
weakness through the curse of Maha. He tells her the story of
the hideous cruelty shown to Maha, a tale already known to Maev.
He also says that whoever may or may not return, she herself will
come back. Returning from seeing the Druid, Maev meets Fe-
dalma, the prophetess, who, in answer to Maev's questions as to the
fate of her great hosts, persists in telling her that she sees them
red, crimson-red. In her vision Fedalma sees the great doer of
great deeds, the young and fair champion, beautiful in mind and
body, who observes toward women courtesy and modesty ; CucuUin
of Moy Mweerhevna, through whom the invading hosts will all be
very red.
CucuUin is the foster son of Fergus, and between these two
there is a mighty love, a love that, in the end, is the means of turn-
ing the battle-tide completely against Maev. Fergus is appointed
leader of the united invading troops; the memory of his great
wrongs and his desire for vengeance fitting him specially, it is sup-
posed, for this office in the war against Ulster. But, as he leads
the troops eastward, there falls on him " his fervent love for his
own land." He knows " each renowned old doon " of her. Men
of fame, now retired from war "in resting-houses of old age," "had
been his fosterers ; " and men famous in battle-breaking had been
his comrades, his foster brothers near and dear. Eager striplings
in the freshness of their youth had been his foster children : and the
thought of one foster son was more than all in his mind. Because
of this his love for CucuUin, he sent private warnings to Ulster, and
also led the hosts by courses long and devious. This could not but
be seen by Maev and Al-yill, and Maev challenged Fergus and re-
proached him. He warned her to fear the Slaughter-Hound who
would spring at her; and, despite her reproaches, threw up the
leadership.
When they come to the boundary pillar-stone of Ulster,
they find traces of the grazing of horses, and they find also a withe
made of a twisted oakling, with an inscription thereon in ogam. The
ogam, as the Druids read, tells how the withe signifies " a delay of
chieftains," and " misfortunes unto fighters." It was flung, they
say, by one man who used one hand only, one eye, one foot, in
felling the sapling oak and twisting it into a withe. It was gass^
'A magical prohibition, magically imposed and, if disregarded, involving
magical penalties. It answered to a taboo. The laying on of a gass appears to
have been a powerful as well as a dangerous weapon.
1915.] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 641
to all the hosts to pass the stone without encamping there one night,
unless one of their men could make a similar withe, under similiar
conditions, Fergus being especially forbidden to make it. Warned
by the ogam, the hosts go southward into the forest, instead of pro-
ceeding on their way, and spend a bitter night under a heavy fall
of snow, next day crossing the boundary and passing into Ulster.
Two of Maev's folk. Inn-yell and Err, ride forward, each hop-
ing that he may find and slay the warrior who has flung the withe,
and so gain much praise and fame. Their chariots return to the
hosts, bearing the headless bodies of them and of their charioteers.
The invaders, thinking that a great host must be there, send
forward Cormac, a son of Conor, who with his brother, Feeaha,
had left Ulster with Fergus and three thousand men. Surely, they
said, the Ultonians would never slay the son of their king. But, in
reaching the ford, only a four-pronged shaft was found, each point
holding a severed head : beyond the ford were a chariot's ruts and
the hoof-marks of its two steeds. Maev's Druid reads the ogam
on the shaft which proclaims its having been set by one man who
had used one hand only to cut it with one sword-snap, and to cast
it, by the length of its two-thirds, into the earth. Gass was laid on
the men of Erin to reach the ford's middle before one man of them,
using one hand only, had drawn it out of its bed. It was Fergus,
who, under this condition, drew it up. Bothies were made, and
fires kindled, and Maev made the circuit of the camp, exulting in
the knowledge that it was within the Ulster bounds. The three great
musicians played on their harps. They played in turn " the
mournful Goltree, the deep weeping-song;" "the merry Gantree,
the fresh laughing-song," and " the Sooantree, the low, sweet sleep-
ing song." At the sound of the first, twelve men died of grief:
and at the sound of the second, men were full of laughter and de-
light: and when the third sounded forth a sleep of soothing de-
scended on the over-weary men.
III.
Of the praising by Fergus and Faerdeeah of Cucullin, and the telling
of his youth and his training and his many marvelous feats,
and his wooing of Emer, — Of the feats of Cucullin in single
combat on the Tdin.
But the great chieftains stayed awake and spoke together in
the wide tent of Al-yill. Then Al-yill made guesses as to who it
was that brought death to the four who had ever gone in the van.
VOL. a.— -41
642 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Aug.,
And the guesses he made were vain, by the showing of Fergus.
And Fergus, asked who it might be, said that he knew not, unless,
indeed, it might be the little lad, his fosterling and G)nor's, Cucul-
lin of the Forge. And as they sat in the tent and feasted pleasantly
and drank the sweet, enlivening wine of Croohan, Fergus began to
praise passionately and glorify Cucullin, his foster son, whom none
could equal in all illustrious qualities. And, at Al-yill's asking,
Fergus tells of the wonderul deeds of Cucullin, while he was yet
a child ; and Cormac and Feeaha, the sons of Conor, in turn take
up the tale of the olden, happy days.
We have thus the wonderful story of Cucullin's early youth;
how he came to the court of Conor, his mother's brother, the Conor
of whom Fergus said that though the king had dealt him a most
grievous wrong and a most grievous insult, he averred that not in
noble Erin, nor in Alba, was there another hero-king the like of
wise red-sworded Conor. Cucullin's mother was a mortal lady,
the sister of Conor the king, and her husband, Sooaltim, was the
hero's reputed father : but his true father was of the gods, the great
dae Danann. The lad's championship was told of; his marvelous
skill at the sports ; his winning of the name of Cucullin, the Hound
of CuUan, instead of his name Setanta; his taking of arms on the
day on which whosoever should take arms was destined to win
great fame and glory, albeit the life of him should be but a short
one ; his wonderful feats and victories ; his going forth from Awin
Maha armed, while yet a child, and his return with the severed heads
of his foes upon his chariot, and, fluttering above it, the wild white
geese caught by the lad, and, bound behind it, the swift, stalwart
stag which he had captured.*
Faerdeeah, a young, choice warrior of the men of Domnann,
tells of the training of Cucullin by Scawtha, the great woman
warrior of the East, who likewise had trained himself in feats of
anns. He tells also of the mighty friendship between them; of
CucuUin's gallant wooing of Emer; of the prophecy of Scawtha
that it was in Destiny that either Cucullin should fall by Faerdeeah
or else Faerdeeah by Cucullin ; of which prophecy Faerdeeah says :
" It were a thing not possible ; for this I say to you : A dearer, truer
friend I never found than was Cucullin, son of Dectora. Oh, he
was half my heart, and I to him was half his heart." He goes on
to say that if the Hound were slain by his sword, that sword should
indeed be thrust through his own side; and if any folk should come
'The story of Cucullin's childhood has been beautifully told by Stondish O'Grady.
19151 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 643
between them and incite Faerdeeah to slay Cucullin, he would turn
in his fury against that folk and slay them with his strong hand.
At the beginning of Faerdeeah's story there is a fine descrip-
tion of Conor's house.
That king's house.
The long Creev Roe of Conor, was designed
After the likeness of the Meadhall House
In Tara. Nine score feet and fifteen feet
Its length from door to door; and it is built
Of fitted planks of rich, red yew, and roofed
With planks of yew thatched o'er with lapping shingles.
Inside the house from fire-hearth unto wall
There are nine imdas;^ and of these each pillar
Of bronze has thrice ten feet in height, and each
Partition is of rich, red boards of yew.
Within the chief place of that house is placed
The imda of Conor; and round about it stand
Pillars of bronze with silvern capitals;
And on each capital a bird of gold
Perches; and flashing gems of carbuncle
They are, which serve for the birds' eyes; and so
These flash that in that house the day and night
Seem of like brightness. A tall, narrow band
Of silver reaches from above the king
Up toward the roof-tree of the kingly house.
And what time Conor with his royal hand
Strikes the resounding silver, all the men
Of Ulster become silent.
Here is the description of Cucullin:
In feats and in swift skill
He went beyond all others of his time;
And greatly did the Ulster women love him
For his swift skill and for his nimble leap,
For his sweet utterance, and for the beauty
Of his fresh face, and for his ardent looks.
And for his wisdom. Many were his gifts ;
For — saving when his battle-rage flamed high —
He had the gift of wisdom and of reason:
He had a wondrous gift for feats of skill;
He had a gift for booanbac and f eehill ;•
He had the gift of estimating numbers ;
He had the Druid's gift of prophecy;
* Sleeping compartments. 'Games.
644 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Aug.,
He had the gift of shape in face and form.
Three faults alone he had. He was too young;
And older warriors hailing from strange lands
Would taunt him for his ungrown beard. Besides,
He was too daring and too beautiful.
And here, in brief, that of Emer, the wealthy brewy's (land-
owner's) daughter, whom alone CucuUin would woo, and win after
much trial and bitter hardship.
For she had the six gifts : the gift of beauty.
The gift of a sweet voice, the gift of utterance,
The gift of needlework, the gift of wisdom.
The gift of chastity.
There is a beautiful picture of the coming of the lover, in his
chariot of fine white wood and woven osiers, drawn by the two
great steeds, the gray and the black, which he had tamed ; coming
in all the glory of youth and fairness, the fairness of intellectual
beauty and strength, as well as of bodily perfection. With words
that veil to all except the maiden, whose gift is wisdom, the deep
meaning which they bear, Cucullin tells Emer whence he has come,
and greets her: and to his asking she replies in noble and stately
guise; she not being of those who would, unsought, be won. He
who wins her must be doer of great deeds; and such will Cucullin
be. Each to the other is pledged, and is true, in equal bonds of
love and chastity ; each refusing all other love.
Henceforth come the warrior-deeds of Cucullin, his encounters
in single combat with great chiefs in his keeping of the ford, while
the other Ulstermen are as yet under the Kesh, At one time
" breaking the faith of men," six warriors together come against
Cucullin; but the peerless warrior cannot be overcome.
Cucillin's encounter with the More-reega, one of the fear-
some triad of war-goddesses, who have the power of changing the
woman-shape to that of a carrion bird, is the encounter of preter-
natural with preternatural, Cucullin being the son of the god Lugh.
The war-goddess vows to injure him when he is in combat with one
like himself in skill; and Cucullin swears to injure her in return.
Both of them keep their word.
"The quick mountain-streams of Coolney " and the torrents
and waters of his country are invoked by Cucullin to fight for him ;
and the river rises and fights against the Four Fifths of Erin,
hindering their passage over Glass Crond as it sweeps many of their
chariots down its rapid-waved mouth to be whelmed in the sea.
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 645
Fire and ravage follow Maev's inroad, despite Cucullin's mar-
velous, single-handed attack, his sling-staflF bringing death to many a
one; and Maev gathers in spoil women and boys and girls and cattle.
The great Donn of Coolney, driven forth in triumph and
brought to Maev's camp with sixty of his heifers, attacks the camp,
and kills many men, going from them straight, whither no man
knew.
Maev at last offers terms to Cucullin, whose dread sling is
hurled all night against the camp. The terms offered are rejected,
and the dubbing of Conor by Maev as a " minor lord," whose service
would less advantage than her own, came to be considered " as the
saying most mirth-producing, droll, and laughable that e*er was
spoken on the Tain." While rejecting Maev's terms, Cucullin
asks that Fergus may meet him at early dawn. Maev repeats her
offer: complete indemnity for all of his that had been spoiled or
taken; a never-ending feast in Croohan, if he will leave Conor
and come to serve Al-yill and herself. This is proudly refused : and
the death-bearing sling shall not cease being hurled unless all the
Ulster women captives and all the Ulster cattle are restored. For
all are his who is keeping for them watch and ward.
Maev goes back with Fergus to the camp: gradually, other
terms, more and more favorable, are offered and refused. Cucul-
lin's own terms are that every day a man shall meet him at the ford,
and while the combat between them is in progress the hosts may
move on; but the man once slain, the hosts to keep within their
camp until the next day. The object of this is, as Fergus points
out to Maev and Al-yill, to keep the united invading army from
moving on until the Ultonians rise from their Kesh, muster their
hosts " and grind you to the sand and earth and gravel." Maev,
however, accepts the terms, certain that the "slight, unbearded
youth " will be slain by one of her battle-champions.
Fergus goes to bear the contract with securities and warranties
enough for the binding of both sides to keep the terms. He is ac-
companied by Edarcool, a brisk, gay, insolent, arrogant lad, Edar-
cool, who desires to see Cucullin, and is warned against showing
him scorning or disesteem. The meeting of Cucullin and Fergus is
full of the beauty of affection, natural and chivalrous. When Fer-
gus leaped from his chariot, " Speak," said he, " art thou true and
trusty towards me? "
" Trusty and true I am," Cucullin said, " O dear and welcome,
ever- welcome guest ! "
646 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Aug.,
He promises Fergus gifts from the bird-flock and the salmon,
and drink from the sand-pools, and green river-cress and sweet
sea-herbs — and, if Fergus must fight a combat, CucuUin's self will go
to meet the foeman, while Laeg, his charioteer, stays to keep watch
over the slumber of Fergus.
"Well do I know, beloved fosterling,"
Said Fergus, " how it stands with thee, and how
These means are all the best thou canst command
For entertainment of a welcome guest
Now in this Tain."
But Fergus must deliver his message, accepting the single com-
bat day by day ; and as soon as Cucullin binds himself to this, Fer-
gus returns, lest the men of Erin should think he had deceived them
"and left them for his fosterling and pupil."
Edarcool, the silly, scornful lad, remains to insult Cucullin and
to insist on a combat with him. Cucullin makes marvelous strokes
that place Edarcool on the very extreme edge of death-danger, spar-
ing him the slightest injury. Three warnings he thus gives him but
in vain, for the lad will not be warned; and so his delayed death
comes to him.
Combat after combat is fought by Cucullin. The fight with
Nathcrantil is full of humor : the " prowess- full man " not think-
ing it worth while to carry his weapons down to the pool, but tak-
ing nine little spits of holly, which he hurls at Cucullin. The
champion, uninjured, leaps lightly from spit to spit. A flock of
birds comes by and Cucullin, bird-like, goes after them to get his
share of food, for all he had to eat was fish and birds and the flesh
of the deer. Nathcrantil mistakes this for flight in defeat, and re-
turns to boast of having made Cucullin flee. That anyone should
make such a boast was like a death-wound to Fergus, and he sends a
message of reproach to Cucullin for having fled before Nathcrantil.
Cucullin's reply is that he never harms charioteers or messengers or
unarmed folk, and that the man had no arms but little wooden spits.
If he comes armed to-morrow he will find Cucullin ready and verily
not fleeing before him. He gives Nathcrantil his death-wound by
the cast of his spear, and is acknowledged by him as the best war-
champion in Erin. Nathcrantil asks leave to go and tell his sons
where his riches are hidden, pledging himself to come again to die
when Cucullin's spear is drawn from his head. Cucullin trusts him :
he keeps his word, and the next day the combat is finished.
1015.] THE Story op thb tain bo coolney 647
Faerbay, his fellow-learner, brother-in-arms and comrade,
comes against him. They both had been under the teaching of
Scawtha, whose pupils were leagued together in closest friendship.
Maev had found a weapon to smite astmder the bonds of chivalry
and love in the attractions of her daughter, Findabair, who, by her
mother's instructions, poured out the royal wine of Croohan and
kissed the goblet for the champion she sought to win from his
faith. Faerbay, seduced by this princess, comes to put away his
league and his sword- friendship with Cucullin; Cucullin in his rage
at Faerbay's resolve to refuse the combat moves off from him,
treading sharply on a holly shoot which pierced his foot sole. He
drags it out and shouts to Faerbay not to go until he has seen what
Cucullin has found. " Throw it," said Faerbay, and Cucullin, not
caring whether it reached Faerbay or not, threw the sharp spike
backward over his shoulder, and it struck Faerbay and killed him.
His death was as ignoble as his breaking of comrade-bond.
The laws of chivalry are broken by Maev, for, while waiting
for the seven days which the great champion, Lok, puts between him
and the avenging of his brother. Long, whom Cucullin has slain, a
party of night hunters goes forth night by night, twos, fours, sevens,
tens, and eight, all slain by the Ulster Hound. In the combat with
Lok, the most important hitherto, the More-re^ja fulfills her threat
of fighting against Cucullin. In the shape of an eel she coils herself
around his feet, and though he rises from his fall and strikes the eel,
breaking his ribs, Lok has dealt a blow that reddens all the stream
with Cucullin's blood. Again, in the shape of a starved she-wolf, she
chases cattle toward the ford to overwhelm him. He strikes her
eye with a stone, and turns the cattle toward the hills. Once more
she comes, in the shape of a red, hornless heifer leading a hundred
of her kin to overwhelm him. His stone strikes one of her hind
legs, it breaks, and she vanishes. Later on she wins her healing
from Cucullin by craft. Lok has had time to deal Cucullin a second
blow, and now for the first time he calls for the dread Gae Btdg, the
spear given him by Scawtha, whose use brought death. It was used
now because of the tough homskin armor worn by Lok. One
warrior-boon Lok asks, even that Cucullin should go one pace back-
ward, so that he may not fall backward but forward, and the men
of Erin be unable to say of him that he fell in flight. The boon is
granted, Lok falling forward, encompassed by the dark mists of
death.
[to be concluded.]
SISTER 6RE60RIA, TO A BIRD AT SUNSET,
SEVILLE, 1686.
(Adapted from the " Pajarillo ** of the Venerable Madre Sor Gregoria Francisca
de Santa Teresa: nat, 1653; obit, 1736.)
BY THOMAS WALSH.
Envying a little bird
His flight to heaven, my heart is stirred,
So hardy is the wing he finds
To breast the banter of the winds,
So lightly pulsing doth he fare
Enamored of the sunset there.
Would I were with thee in thy flight,
Fair plaything of the breeze, to-night,
And from thy heart such impulse know
As speeds thy steadfast pinions so 1
For of the Sun Supreme am I
A love-delirious butterfly;
By tender dawns I sip — ^but claim
The blossom of that Noontide Flame.
Unto thy heart yon crimson tryst
Of sunset glory hath sufficed ;
Thy Spirit, glad and free of care.
Doth to its golden lattice fare;
But I who, knowing, love and pine
For One that is the Sphere Divine,
Of griefs my only wings can make,
And flights alone on sighings take.
Do thou, far bird, on tireless wing
Beyond the heavenly archway spring.
And breasting higher, higher, bear
This message of my fond despair : —
To say that all my heart and soul
Aglow have passed beyond control ;
Annulled unto my limbs, that I
Live hanging on a single sigh.
Yet when, of visionings distraught,
My soul would seize the raptured thought
To mount away to its delight.
It finds no stirrup for the flight.
ROSWITHA THE HUH.
(A TENTH-CENTURY DRAMATIST.)
BY N. F. DEGIDON.
I HE Middle Ages conjure up in the mind of the skeptic
and worldling lurid pictures of a big army of women
hidden in life-long misery behind the gray walls
of convents, when not actually forming a part of the
same walls in the grim horrors of death. It is,
therefore, more than refreshing to come across a book^ wherein
a broad-minded woman has painted the lives of six mediaeval
women — ^two of whom were cloistered nuns — ^and striking
on to a road that has not often been trodden, has had no fears in
giving a full picture of the interesting lives of these women, their
usefulness as part of a great whole, the intellectual pursuits fol-
lowed by them, etc. In the volimie the place of honor is given
to a tenth-century poetess and dramatist wearing the garb of, and
living under the rule of, a Benedictine nun. This highly-gifted
woman — Roswitha by name — was bom in the early part of the
tenth century. Tradition connects her with the royal house of
Germany when the enlightened Otho the Great reigned. At an
early age she entered the convent of Gandersheim in the Hartz
Moimtains, a house founded in the ninth century by Liudolf,
Duke of Saxony, and important enough to entitle its abbess to a
seat in the imperial diet. The miraculous foundation of this con-
vent, told in the words of Roswitha herself, runs as follows :
At that time, there was nigh unto the monastery a little
wood encircled by shady hills. And there was, moreover, in
the wood, a small farm where the swineherds of Liudolf were
wont to dwell, and within the enclosure of which the men,
during the hours of night, composed to rest their weary bodies
until the time when they must needs drive forth to pasture the
pigs committed to their care. Here on a time, two days be-
fore the Feast of All Saints, these same herdsmen, in the
*0/ Six Medieval Women, By Alice Kemp Welch. New York: The Mac-
millan Co.
6so ROSWITHA THE NUN [Aug.,
darkness of the night, saw full many bright lights glow in the
wood. And they were astonished at the sight, and marveled
what could be the purport of this strange vision of blazing
light cleaving the darkness of the night with its wondrous
brilliance. And all trembling with fear, they related unto their
master that which they had seen, showing unto him the place
which had been illumined by the light. And he, desiring by
very sight thereof to put to proof that which he had heard tell,
joined them without the building and began the following night,
without sleeping, to keep watch. And after a while he saw the
kindling lights, more in number than afore, once again bum
with a red glow, in the same place, forsooth, but at an hour
somewhat earlier. And this glad sign of happy omen he made
known so soon as Phoebus shed his first rays from the sky,
and the joyous news spread everywhere. And this could not
be kept back from the worthy Duke Liudolf, but swifter than
speech did it come to his ears. And he, carefully observing on
the hallowed eve of the approaching festival whether, per-
chance, some further like heavenly vision would clearly show
it to be an omen, with much company, kept watch on the wood
all night long. And straightway when black night had covered
the land with darkness everywhere throughout the wooded
valley in which the very noble temple was destined to be built,
many lights were perceived, the which, with the shining splen-
dor of their exceeding brightness, cleft asunder the shades of
the wood and the darkness of the night alike. And thereupon,
standing up and rendering praise to God, they all with one ac-
cord declared it meet that the place should be sanctified to the
worship of Him Who had filled it with the light. And, more-
over, the duke, mindful of his duty to heaven, and with the
consent of his dear consort Oda, forthwith ordered the trees
to be felled and the brushwood cut away, and the valley to be
completely cleared. And this sylvan spot, aforetime the home
of fauns and monsters, he thus cleared and made fitting for the
glory of God. And before obtaining the money needful for
the work, he at once set out the lines of a noble church, as
traced by the splendor of the red light.
In such wise was the building of our second monastery, to
the glory of God, begun. But stone suitable for the structure
could not be found in those parts, and thus the completion of
the sanctuary which had been hegnn suffered delay. But the
Abbess Hathumoda, trusting to obtain all things from the Lord
by faith, ofttimes, by serving God both night and day with holy
zeal, wore herself out with tpo abundant labor. And with many
1915.] ROSWITHA THE NUN 651
of those placed under her care, she besought the solace of
speedy help from heaven. And of a sudden she became aware
that the divine grace which she sought was present, ready
to have compassion on her longings. For as she lay one
day prostrate, nigh unto the altar, fasting and giving her-
self up to prayer, she was bidden of a gentle voice to go
forth and follow a bird she would see sitting on the stmimit
of a certain great rock. And she, embracing the command with
ready mind, went forth, putting her trust in it with all her heart.
And taking with her very skilled masons, she sped swiftly
whither the kindly spirit led her, until she was come to the
noble sanctuary which had been beg^n. And there she saw,
seated on the lofty summit of the selfsame rock, a white dove,
which, flying with outstretched wings, straightway went before
her, tempering its flight in wonted way so the virgin walking
with her companions might be able to follow in. a straight
course its aerial track. And when the dove in its flight had
come to the place, which we now know was not wanting in
great stones, it descended, and with its beak pierced through
the ground, where beneath the soil many stones were dis-
closed. And assured by this sight, the very worthy virgin
of Christ bade her companions clear away the heavy mass of
earth and lay the spot bare. And this done, supernal and de-
vout piety presiding over the work, a great wealth bi mighty
stones was brought to view, whence all the needful material
for the walls of the monastery, already begun, and of the
church could be obtained. Then striving ever more and
more with all their hearts, the biiilders of the temple, destined
to be consecrated to the glory of God, labored at the work by
night and by day.
The manuscript telling this fascinating story of love and faith
was written about a. d. iooo, and was preserved in the Benedic-
tine convent of St. Emmeran, Ratisbon, where the poet-scholar,
Conrad, discovered it in the fifteenth century, together with some
metrical legends, a fragment of a panegyric on the Emperor Otho,
and six dramas by the same author. These latter gave Roswitha
so much distinction in the world of letters, that when Celtes pub-
lished her works in 1501, Albert Diirer received a commission for
an ornamental title-page and for a frontispiece for each of the
plays. She acknowledges having taken Terence, the poet, for her
model as regards manner, though not matter, the reason for which
she explains. "There are many," she says — ^and she does not
652 ROSWITHA THE NUN [Aug.,
exonerate herself — "who, beguiled by the elegant diction of the
classics, prefer them to religious writings; whilst there are others
who, though generally condemning heathen works, eagerly peruse
the poetic creations of Terence because of the special beauty of
their language." She then expresses the hope that, by trying to
imitate his manner, and at the same time, by dramatizing legends
calculated to edify, she may induce readers to turn from the godless
contents of his works to the contemplation of virtuous living.
Emboldened by this pious hope, she shrank from no difficulties nor
details which might have made a more timid soul hesitate, lest her
knowledge of human nature might have been misconstrued by
skeptical or bigoted minds. For, cloistered nun though she was,
this knowledge was wide and deep, and none knew better than she
the need there is for helps — natural and supernatural — ^to keep frail
mortals on the right road. It was said that her powers of delinea-
tion were almost as great as those of Shakespeare, yet for all her
poetic instinct, her plays are the handiwork of the moralist rather
than the artist. To quote from Alice Welch's book :
The subject which dominates Roswitha's horizon is chastity.
Treated by her with didactic intent, this really resolves itself
into a conflict between Christianity and paganism — in other
words between chastity and passion, in which Christianity
triumphs through the virtue of woman. At the same time
Roswitha neither condemns marriage nor generally advocates
celibacy. She merely counsels as the more blessed the un-
married state. Yet, even so, we feel that, under her nun's
garb, there beats the heart of a sympathetic woman whose
emotional self-expression is but tempered by the ideals of her
time and surroundings. Self-glorification was permitted no
place in her literary work, for while she has no misgivings
in composing her dramas, feeling that "herein lies her mis-
sion," she states that her only desire in writing them was to
make the small creative talent given her by heaven, under the
hammer of devotion, a faint sound to the praise of God. She
bears testimony to the kindliness of two successive abbesses,
under whose rule she lived — one of them being the Abbess
Gerberg, niece of Otho the Great — for suggestions, informa-
tion, and encouragement in her literary work, and to the latter
especially for necessary information concerning the doings of
royalty.
Although Roswitha's fame was chiefly derived from her dra-
1915] ROSWITHA THE NUN 653
matic compositions, the metrical legends seem to have been her
earliest efforts. They were based on well-known themes — one being
the story out of which the Faust legend was afterwards developed,
while of two others — ^The Passion of St. Pelagius and The Fall and
Conversion of Theophilus — the subject matter is still of value.
Fearing to profane what she venerated, she allowed herself little
imaginative license; nevertheless, from time to time, she evinced
in psychological touches a capacity for originality quite phenomenal
for her time and environment.
In answer to the self -propounded query as to whether Ros-
witha's plays were ever performed, the author gives us a picture
of the nun's life by simply drawing a comparison between cloistered
lives and those lived by the ladies of the time in castle, court, or
hall, to wit :
The convents of Saxony, as many elsewhere in the tenth
and eleventh centuries, were centres of culture in the nature of
endowed colleges. In some of them women resided perma-
nently and, besides their religious exercises, devoted themselves
to learning and the arts, for the Church of the Middle Ages
took thought for the intellect as well as the soul. In others,
no irrevocable vows were made, and, if desired, or necessity
arose, the student-inmate was free to return to the world. In
others again, though residence was permanent, short leave of
absence from time to time was g^nted by the abbess, and the
nun was able to sojourn with her friends or to visit some sister
community. But, at Gandersheim, the rule was strict, and a
nun, her vows once taken, had to remain within convent walls.
Yet even so, life there was perhaps far less circumscribed than
in many a castle where the men gave themselves up to war
and the chase, and the women, perforce, spun and embroidered
and gossiped, since to venture without the walls was fraught
with difficulty and sometimes with danger. Even if there were
some who cared to read, manuscripts were difficult to come
by and costly withal. Wholly diflferent was it in the religious
houses. In these, women associated with their equals with
whom they could interchange ideas, and the library was well-
furnished with manuscripts of classical and Christian writers.
One of the first cares of St. Benedict in the case of every
newly-founded house was the formation of s^ library. So held
in honor did this tradition become, and so assiduously was it
pursued, that the status of a monastery or convent as a centre
of learning came to be estimated by its wealth in manuscripts.
6s4 ROSWiTHA THE NUN [Aug.,
Besides the mass of transcribing which such rivalry oc-
casioned, there was illuminating to be done, musical notation
to be studied and prepared for the services of the Church,
chants and choir-singing to be practised, and the needful time
to be devoted to weaving and embroidery — 3, part of every
woman's education. Weaving was a necessity in order to
provide the requisite clothing for the inmates, and the large
and elaborate hangings used for covering the walls, but
embroidery was no mere occupation or even a craft, but, in
truth, a fine art. The few specimens still preserved give some
idea of the quality of the work, whilst old inventories attest
the quantity. Illuminated manuscripts of the Gospels and the
Apocal)rpse were lent from royal treasuries, and their minatures
copied with needle and silk to adorn vestments and altar hang-
ings. It was in an atmosphere such as this that Roswitha
passed her days.
Truly a fascinating picture of a busy, interesting, htmian hive,
and, as Gandersheim was of royal foundation, its abbess, in retiun
for certain privileges, was obliged to entertain the king and his
retinue whenever he passed that way, naturally bringing with his
visit a store of political, intellectual, and other information, as well
as interest and diversion from the outside world. Added to this,
the abbess of royally founded houses — generally a high-bom and
influential woman — was, in her position as a ruler of lands as well
as communities, brought into direct contact with the court and
politics. She seemed to have attached to her rights of overlordship
the same privileges and duties as a baron, such as issuing summonses
for attendance at her courts, at which she was wont to be repre-
sented by a proctor; and at a declaration of war, the duty of provid-
ing a prescribed number of knights fell to her. Some abbesses had
supreme influence even in imperial affairs, and social and literary
influence was not outside their ken.
Truly a shedding of light — white light — on the veil of daricness
with which the modern mind has enveloped what it dubs the Dark
Ages — ^the age of fictitious Calcuttean Black Holes, many and dark,
where timid women were popularly supposed to have been immured
for state or other reasons until kindly reason fled, and plunged them
into a nether region where pain or joy, sorrow or fear, were as one.
These devoted lives of useful purpose — ^these full, free lives —
where God-given gifts were encouraged in their best expression,
coming down to us from a world ten centuries agone, are decidedly
1915.I ON THE FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION 655
refreshing reading in this age of such wild unrest, wasted effort,
time-serving, and utilitarianism.
Conning the simple yet full and beautiful life of Roswitha the
Nun — ^poetess and dramatist — is like a sudden happening upon
some calm, cool, green-bowered haven after a long journey in
the heat and dust of a hot summer's day.
ON THE FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION.
BY ELEANOR DOWNING.
" Mary, uplifted to our sight
In cloudy vesture stainless-white.
Why are thine eyes like stars alight.
Twin flames of charity?"
" Mine eyes are on His glorious face
That shone not on earth's darkened place,
But clothed and crowned me with grace —
The God Who fathered me I"
" Mary, against the sinless glow
Of angel pinions white as snow,
Why are thy fair lips parted so
In ecstasy of love?"
"My lips are parted to His breath
Who breathed on me in Nazareth
And gave me life to live in death —
My Spouse, the spotless Dove I"
" Mary, whose eager feet would spurn
The very clouds, whose pale hands yearn
Toward rifted Heaven, what fires bum
Where once was fixed the sword?"
" The fires I felt when His Child's head
Lay on this mother's heart that bled.
And when it lay there stark and dead —
My little Child, my Lord! "
WHITE EAGLE.
BY L. P. DECONDUN.
VI.
Chelsea, May, 1913.
OW the time has dragged along since I wrote to you,
my dearest. Is it really possible that five weeks have
elapsed between my last epistle and this shaky
scribble? You see, in spite of my determination, I
can scarcely trace a few lines legibly. I am told to be
patient and not to tire myself; but do people realize
that whether I write or not, my mind fills pages and pages of loving
words for you ? I know that every mail has brought you news of my
progress, because everyone has tried his or her best to save you from
anxiety. Not that I much believe in my having been in danger, but
pneumonia is always an uncertain illness. What a good thing it only
caught me after the wedding! I suppose that every pen in the family
has described " it " to you down to the smallest details ; I should be
surprised if they had left you in doubt even about the shade of our
glove buttons ; but the important part is that the famous knot is tied,
and that these young people are to be happy " forever after."
Your mother was just magnificent; her imposing figure left us
all in the shade; the only woman who could compete with her was
Miss Lowinska. She also was superb and her simplicity perfect. I
am getting quite fascinated by this young lady, and, as I told you be-
fore, I intend to get thoroughly well acquainted with her.
On that day also, for the first time, did I meet Prince Wladek
Lowinski — another remarkable personality. He is about your height
and build, and carries himself erect as you do ; but there ends the re-
semblance. His hair, which must have been very dark like his
daughter's, is now white, though his eyebrows are still black over in-
tensely blue eyes. He wears a short, slightly pointed beard. He
seems to be a silent man, observant to the point of watchfulness, but
most thoughtful, and as courteous as a prince should be. I liked him
very much. In my opinion he is the type of man who could lead an
army, control a furious mob, or sway a crowd with a few words. I
can imagine his eyes flashing with enthusiasm or indignation. No
wonder he has made his mark in the political world !
I need not tell you what our dear little bride was like, as you
must have received ample descriptions of her, but I thought her more
graceful and winning than ever.
1915.] WHITE EAGLE 657
Millicent was (and is) congratulating herself on the " happy end-
ing of our troubles." She considers herself the right arm of Provi-
dence in the " solution of our problem" (these are her expressions).
And it certainly appears that she is not far wrong. I need not point
out that her satisfaction is very distasteful to your mother. It is even
beginning to annoy Nancy. In fact I should not be astonished if a
cool breeze was already blowing between those three ladies.
Joan and Max are coming back on Tuesday from their tour in
Spain. Their letters are enthusiastic, and these are all duly read to
me, as well as emphasized by many reflections. " The beauty of Spain
seems to have been quite unappreciated before/' was the conclusion
drawn by Nancy the other evening; your mother remarked dreamily
that she " ought to go again to see the Alhambra, as she evidently had
forgotten a great deal about it." The truth is that to this pair of hon-
est lovers — ^as to many others before them— even the Sahara would be
a land of particular charm. At any rate I know some who would have
thought it so, don't you?
May, 1913.
I had to close my letter abruptly the other day, my darling, as
the nurse insisted upon my resting. However, I consoled myself with
the thought that I had been able to address the envelope, and that this,
to you, will mean almost more than the enclosure. This afternoon I
am a great deal stronger; I have been down for several days now,
and able to receive a few of our friends. It was nice to see their
pleased affectionate faces again. Even Willie R , who asked by
telephone whether he would be admitted, was here for a short while.
Dear Willie, I always enjoy him so much ; he is so honest and genial.
By what he called a " lucky chance for him," the two previous visitors
vanished and we remained en tgte-d-tgte. This is to tell you that he
rushed headlong to the subject near his heart. He had heard that the
day before Mab and Pattie Stevenson had called on me, and that, when
Miss Lowinska had come for them, she had seen me for a few
minutes. Therefore, he had to see me also, and get a little chance
of mentioning the name of the idol.
" Do you know, Mrs. Camberwell," he said straight out, " I
scarcely dare to speak of her to anyone but you. I so much realize
the distance between this splendid girl and myself. That is the worst
of it. If I could acquire the conceit of some of the fellows one meets
every day, and who do not think the world is good enough for them,
I should do much better."
" Surely, Willie, you cannot envy those empty headed fellows,"
I protested.
" But I do. Now, any of them with half of what I am and the
VOL. a.— 42
658 WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
quarter of what I own, would cut another figure than Willie R .
You must admit that."
" No, I don't, though I admit that you never show the best of
yourself except to your intimate friends, and these are precisely the
people you need not trouble about"
But he shook his head.
" I hope you will permit me to differ from you there," he ob-
served. " It is with my friends that the best in me should ccmie out"
" Well! (I smiled) in a sense perhaps; but what I want to say is
that without being foolishfy conceited, you ought to understand that
you are in no way inferior to the people you place so much above you.
Socially, for instance, is there such an abyss between Prince Lowinski
and yourself ? "
" My dear Mrs. Camberwell, a bottomless abyss ! Why, that man
is a genius."
" Be it so I How do you know what you don't happen to be a
genius of another kind ? Are you not an R.A. to start with ? "
** Oh, rubbish! what's an R.A. in these days, let me ask you? "
" Well I I am not quite sure, but it ought to be the beginning of
somebody, at any rate. And as for Maryiia's father being a Prince,
the title of Prince in Russia does not exactly represent what it would
in England."
" I know that, but he is a Pole and not a Russian ; there is royal
blood in many an old Polish family."
" Even so, yours does not date from yesterday either ; no, my
dear Willie, this is not where I see the difficulty of a match between
Miss Lowinska and you. I find it in your different natures. I can't
imagine how they would ever amalgamate unless — "
Willie's eyes had opened wide with anxious inquiry, and his
pince-nez seemed very insecure.
"Why — ^why do you think that? I would just do any mortal
thing she could wish."
" Ah I yes, but that is not it You do not look at life from the
same angle for one thing."
"I do not follow you. Are you referring to her tremendous
patriotism ? But I am just as attached to England as she may be to her
country, and I consider the Poles a magnificent race. I should enter
into all her views."
" Would you also enter into her plans if she wished to join in some
hopeless plot to free Poland, though there might be danger there?"
" Oh I surely, you can't quite mean that ? "
"Well, perhaps not altogether. Still you can see how she is
united in feelings, hopes and ambitions with her father, who counts
his own life as nothing where his country is concerned. If he wa§ to
1915.1 WHITE EAGL^ 659
lift a finger, his daughter would follow in his footsteps. Would you
be ready then to throw in your lot with hers ? "
" Now, Mrs. Camberwell, you are trying to discourage me. This
kind of thing is not done nowadays. At least, women have no need to
mix themselves up with politics, and they are not put to death in such
a wholesale manner."
"Are you quite sure that it could not happen again? Have you
forgotten how peace was approximately restored to the Russian Em-
pire less than ten years ago?"
" I wonder," said Willie instead of answering, " why you first
tell me or hint to me that I am almost good enough to dare to win the
girl, while in the same breath you are piling up obstacles in my way ? "
I could not help smiling. " My poor Willie," I said, ** my reason
is merely a wcwnan's reason. I would be more than glad if you won
her for a wife, but it would be unkind to encourage you to do so with
your eyes shut, and I see that you have not the slightest notion of her
inner personality."
" Oh I well, of course, up to this I have merely taken her for a
rational being, and I had no idea that anyone could make her out a
fanatic. What I remarked in her was her intelligence, her great
charm, her artistic soul (as, mind you, she is an artist if ever there was
one; I wish you could see the group she has just finished modeling I),
but I have noticed nothing abnormal in her. When you spoke of
different planes, etc., I thought you were going to mention religion."
" You thought right That is another important difference which
would have to be settled."
" Oh ! on that point, you do not suppose that I would interfere.
That is a matter on which everyone should be free."
" Quite so; but is it a matter on which husband and wife should
be divided?"
" I daresay not. That is why I tell you that I would object to
nothing she might think or do about it"
" Docs it not strike you, Willie,, that this might not be sufficient
for her?"
"Why, what else could she want?"
" My dear friend, this is chiefly where you both look, as I said,
from different angles. What do you honestly think of religion,
Willie?"
" I ? Oh I I — I think it is a very useful thing on the whole : a
normal think I should say. Personally I consider it even a very logi-
cal thing. I don't believe in a chance world, you know. I admit the
existence of a God."
" Could you bring yourself to say *of God' in the general Christian
sense of the word?" I asked laughing. He laughed too.
66o WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
'' Oh I yes. I could do that. Is it not funny how there is always
a tendency to being ashamed of one's opinion on these matters? But
I have a bad chance against you, Mrs. Camberwell, so I may as well
own up."
" Far better. Now try to imagine that the religious belief, which
is evidently of secondary importance to you, should be considered by
your wife as her greatest possible treasure. Is it not evident that she
would wish you to share it with her; specially if she was convinced
beyond any doubt that unless you are able to do so, you must be satis-
fied with a few uncertain years together in this world, and then the
possibility of a final parting."
" Oh I as for a parting, proofs — "
" I know what you are going to say; but if she thoroughly be-
lieved in the possibility of that parting — ^I am not even calling it a
certainty — does it not mean that she would have her daily life sad-
dened by the prospect of such a risk? So that even if you allowed
her to lead you about with a string, it could not make her a pin the
happier. This is, of course, if she truly loved you. Have I made
myself clear?"
" Oh I yes, you have, and I don't deny that you are right to a
great extent; but you must remember that convictions don't grow
merely to suit one's convenience. I could not take your religious
views, for instance, simply because I wish to do so, and it's not in my
nature to either ape at things or pretend what I do not feel."
"I know that perfectly, and it is the very thing I pointed out
to you at the start. These are the difficulties standing in your path."
Poor fellow I He shook his head quite sadly and kept silent a few
seconds. Then he hesitated and cleared his throat.
" I am sure I have tired you out," he b^;an, " you ought to send
me away."
" Not before I hear what is at the back of your mind," I objected
smiling a little. " Come, you had better make a full confession, since
you have had such a good start to-day."
" Oh I it is not a confession. It is only the bit of news I had
come to tell you about In fact, it is the small occurrence which had
caused my hopes to rise; now I fear that it does not amount to much."
" But, my dear Willie," I said regretfully, " I never intended to
discourage you altogether. On the contrary, I want you to make a
better eflFort, if you can, or rather an effort in the right direction."
" Well, it was this," he went on without replying directly, " she
wanted some information, which anyone else could have given her, and
she chose to ask me for it."
" You mean, I presume. Miss Lowinska? "
" I do."
19151 WHITE EAGLE 66i
" Of course it depends on the sort of information."
" That's it. It was about a convent. I fancied when she spoke
to me about a thing of the kind, it was a pretty sure sign that she
beh'eved I would understand her views."
"Oh!"
"You don't think so?"
"I can hardly tell. Perhaps she did not know your religious
opinions."
" Yes, she did ; I took good care that she would not make any mis-
take about that."
" But what sort of information was it? "
" It was only an address," he replied hesitatingly, " but she was
quite willing that I should take her to it myself, which I did, the next
day. I called for her — and her eternal chaperon — and took them both
to that place, then I called back for them half an hour later and was
asked to come in."
" This does not tell me a great deal, my good friend."
" I am coming to it. One evening at somebody's or other's while
speaking to me she had mentioned that a cousin of hers, a nun from
Paris, had been sent to a convent of the same Order in Chelsea. As
I live in Chelsea she had concluded I could tell her where to find it.
I pounced on the opportunity. I happened to Wve seen the place,
but if I had not, I would have hunted for it the whole night if
need be."
" Well, when I was asked into the parlor, she introduced me as
she would have a friend, not a mere acquaintance, and both her cousin
and another nun who, she told me afterwards, had been her cousin's
secretary in former times, were absolutely perfect to me. Do you think
they would have acted like that towards an outsider? I am an out-
sider of course, but I mean — "
" I am afraid, my poor Willie, they would. What else could they
be but polite and even friendly? "
" Oh ! they were friendly, delightfully friendly, that's why I
should have thought — well, I suppose, I made another mistake. Do
you know, I am sorry than I'd care to tell. I had hoped that this
meant a first step towards understanding and intimacy, and I could
have taken to those people at once, nuns or not nuns. Miss Lowin-
ska's cousin, an elderly lady, was most interesting. She seemed to
have a pretty good insight into life, though I wonder how she got it
in this place."
" But," I observed, " you don't suppose she was born there, do
you?"
"Very likely not," he admitted, "since she and the other lady
only arrived a fortnight ago. By the way this other lady is much
(^2 WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
younger, and a Russian. Quite a different tyipe ; there is something of
the Mongolian race in her; narrower black eyes, and a broader,
flatter face. Clever too, I should say. What I can't make out is what
clever women do in that sort of convent. They are clean lost to the
rest of the world; they don't teach, they don't take care of the sick.
Now, Mrs. Camberwell, is that what you Catholics call contempla-
tives?"
" Not exactly. These nuns lead a more active life, and have some
intercourse with the world. The contemplatives have practically
none."
" I see ; but — please don't be offended — I can't imagine what on
earth is the sense of Contemplative Orders at all."
" My dear Willie, the contemplatives are the very heart of our
Church ; they keep her in steady contact with God. Some of us would
not go very far without them."
" But need they separate themselves from the world to pray, if
they like?"
"I am afraid they have to. The duty they undertake is not an
easy one, and requires their entire power of concentration. They
must not be hampered by frivolous noisy people like us. It is very
much the case of : 'Don't speak to the man at the wheel,' you know."
Poor Willie looked mystified, and, as you see, our conversation had
taken a deeper turn than we had anticipated. But I was getting tired,
and I felt almost glad when it was brought to an end.
Joan and your mother had arrived, and after exchanging a few
words with them, Willie R left us. But apropos of your mother,
do you know that there is something I cannot make out about her,
since Max and Joan have returned? She is indeed an angel of good-
ness to Joan, who is beginning to idolize her, but when they are both
here, there is a look on your mother's face which puzzles me. It is
as if she felt (it seems senseless to write this) " uncomfortable " be-
fore me. I hope she does not regret her confidences at C . She
was her own self all through my illness. What could be the matter
with her now? It is her expression which is changed. When I
glance at her unexpectedly, her eyes waver; and, still, when we are
speaking she looks at me quite naturally and is always at her ease.
Joan has noticed nothing, and even Nancy tells me that I am dream-
ing. Am I though, I wonder I
June, 1913.
Shall I tell you, my Reginald, that it is a horrid nuisance to be still
convalescent I Every single soul on earth fancies it is his or her duty
to forbid me something. When I was in the middle of my last letter,
your mother came and put her hand across it.
iQiSl WHITE EAGLE 663
" My dear Nemo," she said, " this is enough ; please end it and
come to the sofa. R^;inald will be more grateful to me for stopping
you than to you for tiring yourself."
And fancy, Rex I I was just writing about her. If she had but
known it, her very fingers covered her name. I glanced down at that
long white hand of hers, then up into her face, and she smiled, a little
whimsically, I thought
" Now hurry," she said, in her half-authoritative, half-affectionate
tone, " three lines to finish, I won't allow more."
And she turned to settle the cushions. Of course I had to obey ;
then I went and lay down like a lamb. She sat in a big easy chair
opposite to me, and put her book aside. We could hear the tea
things jingling on their way upstairs.
Reginald, dearest, I have often wondered if it is because you are
so completely mine, and because she is your mother, that she has such
a strong attraction for me. Most people agree in making " bugbears "
of mothers-in-law, but nothing can be less like a " bear's " attitude than
Mrs. Camberwell's towards me. On that particular evening I looked
forward to an hour or two of her company ; I also wanted to find out
whether my recent impressions about her were realities, but I did not
get the opportunity of doing so. No sooner had we beguh tea than
Max appeared. Joan and Nancy had gone shopping, and would dine
with their father, so he thought we might take pity on him and show
ourselves hospitable. As usual, now, he was in high spirits.
"Do you know, oh! most precious one," he began (this being
his pompous way of addressing me since my illness), " do you know
that you have been troubling our minds of late? Mother here, and
indeed all of us, have come to the conclusion that you need a thorough
change to set you up. Have you anjrthing to say to the contrary ? "
" It depends on the sort of change, my dear fellow."
" Well ! there it is. Mr. O'Dwyer is going to Ireland for a month
or two; Nancy is not. What about the two of you taking a trip
to France or Holland or somewhere?"
I confess. Rex dear, that I thought the idea delightful and said so.
Immediately Max grew enthusiastic.
** Very good, then. Shall I ring them up and tell them it is
settled?"
" Oh ! don't be foolish, Max, and sit down. It isn't settled at all ;
I don't know where Nancy wishes to go."
" Nancy is ready to go wherever you like. She spoke of Paris,
but that's idiotic. In summer Paris is empty."
"That is precisely why it is not 'idiotic' I agree with Nancy;
we might go there."
" But you will be roasted."
664 WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
"Nonsense; it is not at the Equator. What do you think,
mother?"
Mrs. Camberwell was watching Max with an amused smile.
" Has Max any better place to propose? " she asked.
" Why, certainly," he exclaimed, " Trouville, Berk Plage, the Mont
St. Michel, thousands of others, Royat, the Mont Dore."
Your mother began to laugh.
" There truly. Nemo," she said, " you would be saved from soli-
tude. Half the world would be with you as well as most of the
American tourists overflowing from the French capital. If this is
what you want"
" No, indeed," I interrupted, " if Nancy has no objection, it will
be Paris."
And we went on arguing, laughing and planning. Somehow my
principal reason for looking forward to this trip with a sense of
pleasurable anticipation is that it must help the time to pass until your
return. Also in Paris I cannot but find many echoes of our happy
times there together.
Chelsea, June, 19 13.
What do you think, dear, happened yesterday afternoon ? Nancy
had lunched here, and we had finally arranged every detail of our
journey, when two unexpected callers were announced, Prince Lowin-
ski and his daughter. And what do you suppose they had come for?
Simply to oflFer us the use of their house in the Avenue de Segur.
They insisted in putting it at our disposal.
" The best of hotels," remarked the Prince, was but poor comfort
for a convalescent. Their house was always ready for them, as the
servants remained there permanently, and they would consider it a
mark of friendship on our part if we consented to take advantage of it.
They had heard through Max of our project, and they had thought
of this plan ; hoping we had made no other arrangement as yet. All
this was so friendly, so sincere, that we could find no reason for re-
fusing their offer, and there and then everything was decided. Miss
Lowinska told us that we should be received by one of their relatives
who always lived in Paris, and had more or less the management of
their home.
" She is so kind and motherly," she added, " I am sure you will
both like her ; and if she does not make a small Samson of Mrs. Cam-
berwell before many weeks are over, I shall be greatly astonished."
Then the conversation passed to other topics, and when Nancy had
engaged the attention of the Prince, I found an opportunity of ques-
tioning Miss Lowinska about the latest happenings in her artistic
circle. I knew that Mab Stevenson had recently exhibited some fine
1915.] WHITE EAGLE 665
work, and I had a faint hope of getting Willie R 's name on the
" tapis." It was not as easy a matter as you would think ; one does
not drive Miss Lowinska in a given direction unless she is willing to
take it. However, after a few useless attempts I asked her where
Willie R had seen a modeled group of hers which he had admired
greatly. She seemed to attach a very moderate importance to my
question.
" My last group," she said tranquilly. " Yes, it is rather good ;
both my father and I are pleased with it. I daresay Mr. R saw
it in Mr. Rhodan's studio. I generally work there."
" Do you mean to say Edward Rhodan's studio? "
"Yes, why?"
" Oh I nothing, really ; but Rhodan is not a favorite of ours. He
is such a — well, honestly he is such an objectionable man."
'* Do you think so? What is the matter with him? "
Her question was so straightforward, and she looked at me so
judicially, that I felt at a loss for a suitable reply.
" I have no special accusation to bring against him," I b^;an.
" He is neither a thief nor a murderer, but we dislike his cynicism,
his sneering ways, his malevolent tongue ; and I don't know whether
we have more contempt for his long locks and affected careless habits,
or for his conceit."
" But these are accusations, Mrs. Camberwell, are they not?"
Her large blue eyes were so calmly fixed on me that I leaned back
in my chair and laughed.
" I am afraid they are," I acknowledged, " I cannot help it. If
ever you get an opportunity of hearing his private opinions you will
side with us."
" I have heard a great many of them. I have worked with him
for a long time."
" Surely you cannot tell me that you approve of him?"
The girl hesitated; her expression was serious.
" The man is an agnostic," she said quietly, " he cannot judge as
we do. He is also an artist."
** OhI " I interrupted, "do you call his distorted productions 'art?'
If some of them were not merely absurd they would be revolting.
Willie R was saying — "
But she shook her head.
" He is an artist," she persisted, " or rather could be, if he did
not rely so absolutely on his judgment. If his soul could perceive
God, and if his mind could appreciate higher work, he might become a
great man."
"You believe it?"
" I do, I have learned much from him."
666 IVHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
" Have you really? '* I asked, and I fancy my tone betrayed some
disappointment as her grave face relaxed into a smile.
"Mrs. Camberwell," she said charmingly, **you are- fright-
fully prejudiced. Poor Mr. Rhodan! Whyl his name sounds almost
like Rodin."
" I know ; we call him either 'Rodinet' or the 'Rodent.' "
This time she laughed heartily. Nothing was left on that hand-
some face but perfect girlish amusement.
" Oh ! '* she said, " you are all very bad. Poor man ! no wonder
I felt he needed a champion."
" Well ! don't be too keen in your championship. He is a most
uncanny creature ! "
" Do you think he might bewitch me ? "
" I can't say. He is clever, and his arguments are dangerously
subtle."
The girl opened her lips for a quick retort, but her father had
stood up, and had turned to me, so she could only afterwards hold out
her hand with a teasing little smile.
" Dear Mrs. Camberwell," she said, her eyes twinkling with merri-
ment, " I am so thankful for your warning. Now I can safely work
another month with Edward Rhodan; 'forewarned is forearmed'
isn't it?"
What could I answer to this ?
As she was at the door she turned round again; her tall fine
figure outlined on the pale gray tone of the wall, her great eyes still
full of fun. " Shall I tell him that, before leaving London, you would
like to come to his studio to see my work? Yes, I had better; and I
shall be there to welcome you. Good-bye."
She disappeared after the Prince; and I had failed in hearing a
single word from her about Willie.
vn.
Chelsea, Jime, 1913.
We are leaving to-morrow morning for Paris, Rex dear. I feel
perfectly well and rested ; Nancy is in capital spirits ; all our luggage
is ready. I, myself, fastened the shoulder-strap on my pet traveling
bag. (Do you remember when and where that strap was bought?)
And again, last but not least, I have one of your dear letters to take
with me. It came last night, sweetheart, and is so cheering and
faithful and strong I But listen to something which, indeed, you will
know before many hours have passed. From the first instant that
I awoke this morning I had the idea of cabling to let you know where
and when I was going. You see it was so disappointing to think
of your believing me in London, and being unable to write directly to
1915] WHITE EAGLE 667
me. Now it is done ; Mary has gone with my cablegram and before
our steamer enters Boulogne harbor to-morrow, your loving thoughts
will be there to welcome me. Reginald, it makes everything a hundred
times sweeter!
Dear me ! what an amount of sentimentality would be extracted
from our letters by sober friends if their eyes ran over them! I
daresay they would enjoy it, and sneer a little at this side light
on poor me, but try to imagine their bewilderment if they could
read what your mighty pen traces without a blush. My big darling,
your reputation for stem wisdom, for high intellectuality, for unerring
judgment would be gone in a flash. Have you ever thought of such
a possible calamity when you trusted your epistles to so many hands?
But I am more foolish than ever to-day ; I seem unable to write two
sensible sentences, and I believe it is the cablegram's fault. It has
made me feel so light-hearted that I could almost fancy myself
back in our sunniest hours. Do you remember the evening when we
had unconsciously paid each other a number of ridiculous compli-
ments while waiting for the carriage to take us to the L ? You
thought I looked " nice " and I said you looked " princely," and we
had gone through the whole scale on this theme when the absurdity
of it struck us so forcibly that we had to laugh like two children.
The only excuse you could find was that, at any rate, we seemed
to be thoroughly satisfied with each other. And so we were, and
so we are still, thank God I While I am writing, a slanting ray of
sun is on my desk, creeping slowly towards me, and at the end of
each line, when my hand comes near it, it tips my opal for a second.
I wish you could see it flash 1 The little " red light " shoots through
it like an arrow I
But enough of this. I told you in one of my letters that Miss
Lowinska had threatened me with an invitation from Edward Rhodan.
It came three days ago, and with it a note from her promising that
she would ask no one else but Mrs. Camberwell and Joan (unless
I choose to bring anybody with me), and that nothing would be
allowed to tire me. It was so frank and friendly of her that I decided
on the spot to get Willie R to come with us. (I am getting as bad
as Millicent.)
The day was truly glorious, and when we went up Mr. Rhodan's
staircase, great beams of light were pouring on us from the open
door of what he calls his "workshop." I must confess that it
resembles in no way the interesting studio of Willie R ; nothing in
it is given up to artistic effect. Blocks of stone, rough planks, lumps
of fresh clay had been pushed into corners. Queerly shaped vases,
evidently baked for experimental purposes, were the only ornaments
(if they could be called so). At any rate they had been promoted
668 WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
to this title by the sheaves of flowers which Miss Lowinska had placed
in them. In the best light stood several busts, some curiously carved
masks of faces, partly man, partly beast, with some repulsive shapes
of problematic or allegorical monsters; and apart from those were
set two or three small groups, a wounded eagle and a half-finished
modeling of Prince Lowinski's head. These last few had no need to
be labeled; they were as far removed in beauty from the works of
Rhodan as if a gulf lay between them. True, the sculptor's creation,
displayed intense power, but there was this, Reginald: his power
seemed ready equipped for evil ; it was unwholesome. That the girl,
while working here, breathed this atmosphere unhurt, denoted in her
not only g^eat mental purity, but a moral strength equal, if not
superior, to that of this man. She was impervious to his surroundings.
(The poor chaperon, I suppose, was the person to be pitied through
the tedious hours of waiting.)
However, after the first awkward moments, I had to acknowledge
that in Miss Lowinska's presence Rhodan became less objectionable.
Joan found him " original and amusing," though " terribly untidy ! "
As for Willie R , he never thinks anything at all of these points, and
he had eyes only for Miss Lowinska, but your mother felt as I did.
" Horrid man 1 " she muttered when sitting near me, " what an
influence for that child ! "
I wish you could have seen " that child." She positively towered
above Rhodan, and looked taller than ever in her linen over-all falling
straight from the shoulder. The masses of her dark hair were slightly
loosened, her eyes were shining, her lips parted with enthusiasm. It
was she who pointed out to us the pieces of greater value in the man's
work while he was doing what he could to be entertaining and telling
Joan some would-be witty stories. But when we insisted on getting
interested in her own productions, she discussed them with the same
impartiality and the same pleasure. She did not show a particle of
affectation. No wonder Willie R drank in every word she uttered,
and nodded approvingly (pince-nes and all) to every second remark
she made. Shall I confess that I am getting so much interested in
this pair that I am beginning to minimize Millicent's mistakes about
another couple. Matchmaking must be a catching fever. And you
know. Rex dear, they are very attractive young people, both good and
gifted and handsome. Max told me the other day that Willie was
twenty-nine ; just the right age.
Miss Lowinska was in her element. She appeared less stately,
perhaps, than in an outdoor or evening gown, but far more charming.
There was a touch of the schoolgirl in her new mood ; her repartees
were so frank and witty. One wondered where her usual gravity had
vanished too. I think she puzzled Joan a great deal ; and I also fear that
1915] WHITE EAGLE 669
the youngest Mrs. Camberwell felt a little bit " superior." There was
an odd, faint line at the corner of this lady's mouth which spoke of
disapproval ; and, between us, it was rather funny, considering the ripe
years of this criticizing " matron." In any case, at no time and at no
age, could these two natures ever meet. Maryiia Lowinska would con-
stantly look over Joan's head without being aware of it; and Joan
would keep Miss Lowinska under a microscope without ever learning
how to look at her.
But Willie! Oh, Rex, if you had seen him! I don't think the
dear fellow will ever forget this little party. His " star " was so de-
lightfully simple, so entirely herself and so full of teasing fun. She
also ordered these two men about as if they were her younger broth-
ers, and they both enjoyed it. (I should say that Willie " loved " it.)
By the way, I managed at last to bring the subject of the convent be-
fore Mar3rna. I asked her why, of all people, she had selected Willie
R to take her there. She looked at me with surprised eyes.
" Why should I not?" she asked.
A straight question like that is always embarrassing; I answered
something vague about his not being a Catholic, but the eyes never
flinched.
"Does that make any diflference?" she inquired.
" No, not exactly ; but — ^as a rule — "
" Have you rules against it in England?"
" Of course not."
" Then I do not see. Did he tell you that he objected to any-
thing?"
" No, it is not that. But here, we would not much care to bring
people of another persuasion to a convent or a church unless they
themselves expressed a wish to go."
" I can't understand why. If they do not like it they are free to
refuse. Mr. R did not."
" Indeed, I know that."
" Then isn't it all right? My cousin is a woman in a thousand,
you know. She was one of our best writers, and he is broadminded
enough to appreciate her views."
" Is that why you brought him to see her? "
" Oh, no ! The idea of it never even crossed my mind. Circum-
stances did all; but I don't regret it."
" Well ! perhaps we won't either."
" Really, Mrs. Camberwell, you are almost unkind," she remarked,
with a smile of reproach. " Are you hinting to me that, though Mr.
R came quite willingly, people might blame him for it or accuse
me of proselytism? But honestly how could one interfere with the
beliefs of a person who has no creed?"
670 WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
For a second I almost believed I detected a gleam of mischief in
that smile; but no, she really was hopeless, so I again answered
vaguely and left things as they were. Poor Willie, I wonder if I ought
to leave him in his present little Paradise. Perhaps I may as well;
he will come out of it soon enough if he must.
The amusing part of the visit is that, so far as Rhodan was in
question, we came away as prejudiced as we went in ; all except Joan.
Your mother's opinion and mine could be rendered by the same words :
" Captivating girl; detestable man I "
Willie was all smiles and absent-mindedness. If he succeeded,
when he left us, in finding his street, then his house and after that the
door of it, he accomplished a great feat.
But Joan! Joan had been improving the shining hour, and be-
tween Edward Rhodan and the mouse-like chaperon she had gathered
an amount of knowledge. She was able to tell us that Rhodan was not
'' as bad as he looked," that he was '* quite original and interesting; "
that Miss Lowinska might have a very large fortune of her own, but
was not the heiress people took her for. She had a brother, older
than herself, in St. Petersburg, where he was working for some uni-
versity degree. Still, I did not think her quite her own self;
she laughed too willingly, and when she looked up, she raised her eye-
lids in that slow determined way of hers which has the faculty of
irritating me.
As your mother had her motor, they left me at my door, but Joan
came up for some books.
"Please, madam," said Mary when we went in, "there was a
telephone message for Mrs. Max Camberwell. Mr. Max said that if
she cared to stay here till six o'clock he would call for her."
Joan's head gave a scarcely perceptible toss of impatience, which
I took care not to see.
" I am very sorry, Nemo," she said, " but I think I had better go
back now. You won't be lonely, you have heaps of things to do; you
always have, and Max is so uncertain. Indeed it is well that mother
and I are such willing companions; we are not often bored by his
presence."
So the shoe was beginning to pinch : Max must have taken my
advice " to the letter." Well I so much the better, since it is producing
the desired result; and there is no doubt that both Mrs. Camberwell
and Joan are getting more and more intimate and fond of each other.
I had not been back twenty minutes when both Millicent and Dick
Marchmont turned up; she, as ever, all vivacity and affectionate
demonstration; he abhorring being caged in a house, and soon be-
coming restless in his slow way, turning aimlessly round the room,
putting on his "binocle" to look at pictures which he has known
1915-1 IVHITE EAGLE 671
for years; standing with his back before the fireless chimney place
and putting now and then a word (occasionally to the point) in
our conversation. Somehow Dick Marchmont always puts me in good
humor. As for Millicent, she was all aglow with the news that Miss
Lowinska had "dragged" Willie R "to a convent," though
aggrieved that I knew it already. (But I did not tell her how I had
heard it.)
" You see," she pursued in a tone of authority, " it was a most
unheard-of step to take, and I am positive that Willie R was
aghast at those proceedings. It is not his " genre ; " but Maryiia is
such an extraordinary being. Attractive, certainly, but fanatical to a
degree, and with no proper intellectual training."
"Is that your opinion?"
" Most distinctly. And Willie R hates fuss and exaltation of
all kinds; besides not caring a pin-point about creeds."
" I never supposed he went there for a religious purpose," I said
smiling. " He might have gone for quite another reason."
"Ridiculous! If you mean for this girl's sake it would be
useless."
" May I ask you why? "
" Oh ! these are private matters ; but I believe Prince Lowinska
has very settled views about his daughter. If Willie is entertaining
any hope in that direction I pity him. On the other hand, I think
Maryiia is above encouraging anybody, and this is why I say that her
leading him to a convent is sheer proselytism. You know what
Catholics are."
" Perhaps," unexpectedly interrupted Dick, in his most serene
voice, " you might make an eflfort to recollect Nemo's own persuasion
before insulting her."
And he grinned at Millicent who had looked round when he had
began speaking, but who shrugged her shoulders and faced me again
as if Dick was a n^ligible quantity.
" Nemo is not a fanatic," she replied firmly. " While that girl
is blinded by superstition."
" I wouldn't have thought so," I remarked. " Is she really as
dangerous as this ? "
" Ah ! that's it ; you don't know. But, my dear, I have had her
three weeks with me in Scotland, and there I had an insight into the
workings of her brain. She is limited in her ideas, and obstinate as
a mule on some out-of-fashion old principles, while she swallows,
wholesale, statements that a child of five would reject. She is a hope-
less obscurantist."
" Is that why you wanted her to teach you theology and scholas-
tic philosophy when you wired to town for a small shop of religious
672 WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
books ? " inquired Dick putting on an innocent expression. " Or
wait — do I make a mistake? Was it, on the contrary, you who un-
dertook to teach her the proper view to take of the authorities of her
Church."
" Dick you are unbearable ! "
" Awfully sorry, I am sure," answered Dick, aflFecting contrition ;
" but there are points I never get quite clear. For instance which of
you desired to become a Carthusian?"
This time, Millicent's eyes flashed, though, I r^ret to say, with-
out any other eflFect on Dick than that of broadening his smile.
" I wish," she snapped out, " that you would show a little sense."
" I always do," said Dick meekly, " the sense of the ridiculous."
And, as for an instant, she stared at him speechless, he added
with the most perfect look of apology:
" I need it so often, you see."
There was an unavoidable pause. I was conscious of Dick
watching me with wicked delight, while I was struggling against chok-
ing laughter. Millicent, I knew, was furious, but she had any amount
of self-control. She turned her chair more deliberately towards me and
began afresh, her voice ringing with contempt.
" I was going to say this. Nemo (there was the faintest sound
of tittering, and I was obliged to study my rings with the utmost
care) ; I was going to say this," she repeated severely: " that though
Catholics refuse to make concessions to us Protestants, most of them
have the tact to leave us alone; but this girl drives roughshod over
everyone; she will allow no thoughts but her own to come to light.
She is intolerable I "
"My dear Millicent, I do not follow you. Did Miss Lowinska
refuse to listen to your theories? "
"Oh!" muttered Dick, gazing peacefully through the window,
" that mightn't be a crime."
" Dick," interrupted his wife, " you are getting distinctly rude."
Dick's arms fell by his sides with unutterable distress.
" Is it possible," he asked, " that a man could be so misunder-
stood ? My dear — ^why ! I have been agreeing with you from my very
heart. Now, listen to this, Mrs. Camberwell (he turned to me with a
sudden fire, thereby neatly stopping the words on Millicent's lips) ;
surely my greatest ambition is to convey to you — and to the world at
large— that Miss Lowinska's iniquities are— oh! are — ^very glaring.
She was lunching with us a week ago, when our 'dear' friend Rho-
dan — I know that you are like me, devoted to him — did his little
best to trap her into some sort of religious discussion. Well! she
simply and figuratively made a football of his artistic and unctuous
person."
19151 WHITE EAGLE 67s
" Dick I " (Millicent's tone was refrigerating to the extreme.) " I
object to these expressions."
" Oh, very good ! Well, she smashed him into atoms, ground him
into powder ! Surely this is an unpardonable sin I "
Millicent drew a deep breath; she was trying hard to keep her
temper.
" I observed before that I objected to these terms," she said
incisively ; " besides the girl was not trapped."
" Oh ! (humbly astonished) I b^ your pardon."
" You need not" (Her eyes were like gray steel.) " What I
said to you. Nemo, or rather (emphatically) what I attempted to
say, was that the girl argued with such unheard of daring finality
(" It was final enough," came to me in a loud sigh) that Edward
Rhodan had to leave her the last word, for politeness' sake." (" High
time for him to learn manners!" mumbled the same voice.) "The
fact is," concluded Millicent, "that she hates the man because she
is jealous of his genius." ("Neat discovery, that!" whispered the
irrepressible Dick.) I was doing my utmost to remain serious, but
my tone was wonderfully subdued while I attempted to answer.
" You see, Millicent," I stammered, looking attentively at the de-
signs on the carpet, " your statement is rs^ther a surprise. I was giv-
ing my opinion of Mr. Rhodan to Miss Lowinska, a few days ago,
and she disagreed with me ; she stood up for him quite frankly. Be-
sides I don't think it is in her to envy anyone, and why should she
work with him if she dislikes him so much ? "
" Because he is the cleverest master she can get," retorted Milli-
cent, " and she knows it very well."
" Then why does Rhodan consent to teach her? "
"Oh! I really don't know," she exclaimed with exasperation;
" the best of people are idiots at times."
"So they are! so they are!" chimed in Dick; "and so we are
too, I expect, in tiring Mrs. Camberwell with such appalling revela-
tions. What about retiring discreetly, Millicent? The motor is
snorting and stamping at the door for the last five minutes. It has
finished its bag of oats I presume."
Millicent stood up like a resigned martyr.
"Does Reginald ever attempt to be witty?" she asked with a
heavy sigh."
" No," said I, " it would be a loss of time."
" Dear me ! " she replied, her eyebrows raised in feigned aston-
ishment, " what a comfort for you I "
But at that moment our three pairs of eyes met and we
openly burst out laughing. They left me the best of friends, though
still teasing each other. What a funny couple they make ! But there
VOL. a.— 43
674 WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
is no doubt of this: Maryiia Lowinska has been placed in Millicent's
black books. Let us hope she will survive.
In the Train, July, 1913.
My dearest, I am in France again! The sun is dazzling; the
sky is so far above us that the great light tones it to the palest blue;
the train is as narrow and shaking as ever on this side of the Channel,
and we are rushing at full speed towards Paris. ^ The last time, my
Rex, you were here, bending under this low roof, trying to keep the
sun out by lowering the little blinds which no power on earth could
keep down, and attempting in vain to find some fresh air in the
draughts of dust blowing in. You seemed so big, and you looked
so cramped, in the narrow space allowed by the French railway com-
panies. To-day it is different with Nancy who is almost as thin a
person as I am ; besides we have the whole compartment to ourselves.
This morning we had such a rush. (I see you smiling and think-
ing that I would be greatly changed if it had not been the case.)
However when we reached Charing Cross, Max flew to register our
boxes while Nancy saw to the tickets, or the porters, or something,
and I was to keep an eye on the man who took charge of our hand
luggage. But it was by no means an easy matter. In the hurrying
crowd I lost him twice; then I was asked for my ticket, which was
in Nancy's possession ; our reserved comers were not to be discovered
anywhere, and the signal was on the point of being given. Need I
tell you how I missed your big strides, your swift way of guiding me,
and of stopping officials and porters with a word. Indeed I was
getting drowned in that heaving sea when suddenly a hand touched
my shoulder:
" If you will follow me, Mrs. Camberwell, I will see you to your
carriage. Miss O'Dwyer is waiting for you."
It was Prince Lowinski who had come with his daughter to see
us oflF, and who, thanks to his height, I suppose, had seen how to res-
cue me. I cannot tell you how grateful I was I In a few sAronds I
was safe in our reserved compartment, our tickets punched, our rugs
in the rack, and we were warmly shaking hands with our friends.
Then the flag went up, there was a little jerk and we glided away.
When we were out of the station, and slowly recovering, Nancy who
was sitting opposite to me looked up laughing.
" Such an exit," she remarked; " we are a pair! If Prince Lx)-
winski had not found you, I should have had to jump out and let our
luggage take the journey alone. Max was only in time to get the
boxes in the van, and he had to stand there and see them put in. I
think this is a promising beginning."
Keen, Irish merriment sparkled in her clear eyes ; I b^^an to forget
my panic.
19151 WHITE EAGLE 675
" I h(^/' I said with a rather doubtful smile, '' that our worst
difficulties are over."
" Over ! Are you dreaming? Why I there will be, most likely, an
insufficient number of berths on the boat (and neither you nor I can
attempt staying on deck) ; then, there will be the Custom House at
Boulogne, the other Custom House in Paris; the impossibility of
finding a French porter, and quantities of unexpected complications."
" Nancy, you are provoking. You want to make me regret our
venture."
" Not at ail, I want to make you enjoy every bit of it Now that
you are prepared you will chiefly notice the ridiculous side of things.
What msikes people 'panicky' is that they won't foresee possibilities."
" I am sorry to contradict you, but it is precisely my foreseeing so
many of them which makes me lose my head at once."
This however was not troubling me then. Nancy's good humor
was so qpmmunicative that no one could resist it ; and when it actually
happened that, the sea being rough, everybody rushed to the saloon
and we had the greatest difficulty in securing our two berths, we
took it gaily enough. That is to say, until we left the harbor; after
that even Nancy felt rather melancholy. Happily the passage only
lasted an hour and twenty minutes, and the sight of the French shore
brought us to life again. At Boulogne we had no difficulty with
either porters or douaniers, and we were soon able to climb the lad-
der-like steps of the train. What well-trained acrobats the French
people must be to get into any of these railway carriages in a hurry.
Not very far from us a corpulent old gentleman had to be pulled in by
the hand, while a porter actually shoved him up with his shoulder.
It is true that the carriage was off the platform and that the porter
was small, still —
And now, Nancy is fast asleep— tired I suppose after this dis-
agreeable crossing — ^and I, my dearest, am scribbling away. The
country is very fine; rich fields, bright tidy little villages with their
churches, most of them old and picturesque; now and then a stretch
of water, and trees, trees, trees! Tall poplars near the rivers, and
numbers of other trees which I have no time to recognize. But they
come, and still they come ! If you were here I would say willingly
what was written long ago : " France is the most beautiful country
outside of heaven."
Amiens ! We are slowing up a little. I wonder if we shall stop.
Nancy is still asleep, but I am glad of it. I feel nearer to you when I
am alone. No, we are not stopping, but gathering speed again. Do
you remember Amiens, and how delighted we were at finding some
Beauvais pottery in a shop there? I must get some more in Paris.
Nancy is awake at last. I must stop writing, but I shall not close
676 WHITE EAGLE [Aug.,
this letter until we have reached our destination this evening. We are
due at the Gare du Nord at half-past five.
Same day, 9 o'clock. Paris.
Rex dear, I can scarcely realize where Nancy and I are to-night.
It seems all so strange and pleasant, and yet unlike any experiences I
have had before. But let me b^n at the banning.
Of course we had the ordinary racing to the Custom House, and
endless waiting for our turn ; but nothing belonging to us was c^ned,
and so we left it with a contented heart Our porter, a small wiry
Hercules, found us a taxi, gave the address and wished us "good
luck." He did well to do so, for if you had seen our heavy boxes
piled in a trembling pyramid near the driver, and if you had felt the
plunging and swa)ring of the vehicle, even you would have doubted
our escaping disaster. At each new jerk, each heartrending bump,
each exchange of sarcastic remarks between our man and his fellows,
I felt certain that the rampart of trunks would either crush him, or
us, or some of the people in the crowd of open carriages jammed
around us. Nancy was giving way to one fit of laughter after another
until I felt like shaking her; but nothing I could say made the
slightest impression. At last we* turned into the Avenue de S^r,
and there on comparatively even pavement and a deserted thoroughfare
we ended our journey peacefully. It seemed a very short time after this
that we were sitting before the daintiest of teas with Madame Stablew-
ska as hostess. And what a perfect hostess, Reginald 1 She had met
us when we arrived in the most kindly manner ; everything had been
prepared here for our greatest comfort, my bedroom is a princely one,
and Nancy's is charming.
Now what shall I describe to you first; the lady or the house?
I suppose the lady ; only I am not quite sure that I can exactly con-
vey to you what she really is like. Madame Stablewska is slight and
small; she has a very pale, oval face with jet black eyes, regular
features and the most beautiful hands. She is dressed in severe black,
and might be about fifty years of age. Her daughter, who lives here
also, is perhaps twenty or a little more, very much like her mother, but
with masses of fair hair and eyes of a sort of gra)rish blue; not at
all like the deep sapphire of Maryna's. She is tall and would be glee-
ful if it were not that she moves a little slowly at times, as if she
were suffering with rheumatism, only she does not appear to be in pain.
As for Madame Stablewska it was a slight shock to find that she could
not speak above a whisper; and, at first, it kept us under the impres-
sion that our own voices were painfully loud, but I suppose we will
get accustomed to it.
Now I come to the house. It is an interesting house, but in some
1915] WHITE EAGLE 677
ways peculiar. The entrance is not built on the old French pattern of
the porte cochere and inner square yard. The beautifully carved
door opens directly on a hall laid with marble slabs, over which
the concierge seem to reign supreme. From there, one flight of stone
steps takes you to a large anteroom, around which are several oak
doors, but I do not know yet where they lead. The first floor proper
is occupied by the large reception rooms, which at this time are
shrouded in linen covers. On the second floor is the library, between
the Prince's private apartment and a delightful moderate-sized draw-
ing-room. After passing between a corridor, lined on both sides with
bookshelves, one comes into a long narrow room, extending behind
the Prince's apartment and the drawing-room. In the middle, at the
back is a broad fireplace, and at each extremity a window. Extending
into the rear of both apartment and drawing-rocwn are two recesses.
From these recesses doors open into both rooms. If a worker in one
of these recesses saw a visitor who was not welcome to him, he could
disappear unobserved through one of these doors.
The last story of this house has not been left, as is the case
in France, to the servants' occupation. Instead, the whole length
and breadth of it has been made into a magnificent room, with oak
panels and rafters, old tapestries and an antique, projecting mantel
shelf, under which are wide benches and shaded electric lights. The
whole length of wall facing the south is a succession of windows,
under which runs a window seat piled with cushions. Two big
columns support the ceiling in the centre of the room. In one comer
is an inlaid bureau and a collection of precious books; further up a
carved oak couch with priceless rugs. This afternoon we took our
tea in the sunniest end, near the huge fireplace.
Dinner was a hushed little function in the subdued light of the
dining-room. Mademoiselle Stablewska tried to keep up a conversation,
but we had not yet become accustomed to the enforced quietness of her
mother, and we seconded her badly. Besides, all was still very un-
familiar; even the shadowy form of the dome of the Invalides near
us, and the fantastic, transparent shape of the Eiffel tower in the dis-
tance, seemed part of a theatrical decoration on which the opened
French window permitted us to glance.
And now, my own Rex, I am ending this scribble in the oak room
while Mademoiselle Helena is pla)ring some Polish airs for Nancy,
whose interest in music to-night seems to me in proportion to her fear of
a tete-d'tete with Madame Stablewska. Is it not astonishing that such
a little thing as the loss of one's voice could make such a difference?
My dearest, in a few days, you will get another big budget To-night
I am dead tired. Good night, dear, and God bless you I
[to be continued.]
flew Boohs*
POEMS OF EMILE VERHAEREN. Translated by Alma Stret-
tell. New York: John Lane Co. $i.oo net.
Emile Verhaeren is a poet whose greatest gifts are imagina-
tion and strength. He has been called " the Belgian Whitman,"
a. characterization utterly absurd, for he lacks Whitman's distin-
guishing virtues of sympathy and democracy, as well as his dis-
tinguishing vices of sentimental pantheism and deliberate obscen-
ity. There is, it is true, gross immorality described with repvd-
sive accuracy in Les FUamandes, and other early volimies of verse,
but Verhaeren (unlike Whitman) discovered at any rate the ar-
tistic inappropriateness of an obsession of sensuality before he
had progressed far in his literary career. And in this regard the
volume of translations now under consideration is not open to
censure.
Miss Alma Strettell has made faithful but awkward English
versions of nineteen of Verhaeren's poems, taking them from the
volumes entitled Les Villages Illusoires, Les Heures Claires, Les
^Apparus dans mes Chemins, and La Multiple Splendeur. No true
friend of the poet will regret the omission of selections from such
early indiscretions as Les Moines and Les Debacles, but it is unfor-
tunate that some of his recent poems have not been included, some
of the poems which, like La Cathedrale, seem to show that from
his nation's grief he has learned the pride of humility and the
wisdom of folly.
Only three of the poems in this little book are new to the
English-speaking public. The others were published in the nineties,
when Mr. Arthur S3mions was trying to extend in England the fame
of Verhaeren and other continental poets. Of the three new poems,
one. The Glory of the Heavens, is particularly interesting because
it is the work of a man who at the time shut his eyes before the
Cause of the glory of the heavens, and said that therefore It did
not exist. He spends much fine rhetoric in praise of the stars, but
he spends it in vain, for his highest acknowledged thought about
them is that they are " the intricate tangle of marvelous problems."
It is a pathetic, a tragic thing, this effort to find beauty without
God ; the reader turns hastily from its cold splendor to the warm
radiance of Father Gerard Hopkin's The Star Night.
1915-1 NEW BOOKS 679
But Verhaeren has always been honest in his infidelity. He
has not, like his compatriot, Maeterlinck, been vague merely for
the sake of vagueness. In his earliest poems, his coarseness was
repulsive, but it was frank, it was not blasphemously decked in
religious robes, as in Maeterlinck's morbid immoralities. And there
are indications, even in the little volume now at hand, that the poet
who was taught his art by the Jesuits of Sainte Barbe, is coming to
see that these teachers knew more about "The Glory of the
Heavens " than any poet, however gifted, has ever foimd out for
himself.
THE DEMOCRACY OF THE CONSTITUTION AND OTHER
ADDRESSES AND ESSAYS. By Henry Cabot Lodge.
New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. $1.50.
The distinguished senior Senator from Massachusetts has given
us in this volume a collection of political papers to which he has
added various addresses and essays, the whole making a book at
once thoughtful and pleasant.
He continues, thereby, that fine tradition of scholarship, that
capacity for the enimciation of high thoughts and fit diction, which
have so long and so happily characterized many of his predecessors
in the exalted position he now fills.
The first five papers consist of an earnest, well-reasoned conten-
tion against new legislation, either proposed of late years, or in
some places already adopted, namely, the Initiative, the Referen-
dimi, and the Recall of Judges. In his opinion these measures are
fraught with present and future evils. They tend to destroy the
representative element of our government, to submit to popular and
hasty misjudgment matters of highest consequence, to foster un-
duly the will of minorities, to put the power of ruling into the hands
of demagogues, and so expose the coimtry to repeated changes of
law, to the mercy of factions.
So far from being new or original discoveries, the brilliant
outcome of twentieth centiuy thought, Mr. Lodge very calmly yet
unmistakably proves their existence and fatal presence in history
both ancient and modem.
With a mind open to the changes which new circumstances may
impel, he is wisely conservative, and is at pains to show that the pro-
posals are not only faulty in their presentation, but unnecessary,
as having a place already both in our theory and practice of govern-
ment. The Initiative is provided for in the first ten amendments to
68o NEIV BOOKS [Aug.,
the Constitution; the Referendum has existed and has been freely
used in the various States by constitutional amendments, in city
charters, in laws, and in local franchises. The Recall of Judges by
popular vote finds no favor in his eyes, as it tends to lessen the in-
dependence of judges, to make them subservient to popular passions.
Three of the papers are monographs on Lincoln, Calhoun, Thomas
Brackett Reed, written with distinction and great finish. The two
concluding essays are literary in character and very pleasant reading.
MANUALS THEOLOGI^ MORALIS SECUNDUM PRINCIPIA
S. THOM^ AQUINATIS. By D. M. Priimmer, O.P.
Three volumes. St. Louis: B. Herder. $7.50 net.
A university professor once stated to the writer that one of
the evils of our time was the publication of needless textbooks of
moral theology. Few of them had any reason to exist, for they
failed to treat the questions of the day, and did nothing to bring
up to date the old questions treated by the moralists of the golden
age of the science.
Father Priimmer would not have come imder this scholar's
condemnation, for he is thoroughly up to date, and is by no means
content to copy blindly the writings of his forbears. He rightly
complains of those modem moralists who pay too little attention to
principles, and too much to casuistry pure and simple. He is per-
fectly well aware that casuistry is necessary in law, medicine and
morals, but it should not usurp the whole field of study. A good
grasp of the first principles of a science will often make a knotty
problem easy of solution.
One feature of these volumes is frequent quotation from the
pages of St. Thomas. Still, while following the master closely,
Father Priimmer does not forget to cite the theologians of other
schools, like St. Alphonsus, Hugo of St. Victor, St. Raymond of
Pennafort, St. Bonaventure, and many of the moderns. The stu-
dent of theology will certainly find these volumes most helpful.
THE OXFORD BOOK OF AMERICAN ESSAYS. Chosen by
Brander Matthews. New York: Oxford University Press.
$1.25.
Professor Matthews of Columbia has gathered together over
a score of American essayists from Franklin ( 1706-1790) to Roose-
velt, and introduced them to us in a most felicitous preface.
In this introduction he complains of the unfortunate and mis-
1915] NEIV BOOKS 681
leading antithesis between " American " and " English " literature,
for he says rightly that the literature of a language is one and
indivisible, and that the nativity or the domicile of those who
make it matters nothing. " The works of Anthony Hamilton and
Rousseau, Madame de Stael and M. Maeterlinck are not more
indisputably a part of the literature of the French language than
the works of Franklin and Emerson, of Hawthorne and Poe, are
part of the literature of the English language." However, American
writers have an indefinable and intangible flavor which distinguishes
them clearly from their English cousins. Their outlook upon life
is different, and their social atmosphere and organization is different
in many particulars. He thus characterizes the true essay style:
" We find in the best of these American essays the familiar style
and the everyday vocabulary, the apparent simplicity and the seem-
ing absence of effort, the horror of pedantry and the scorn of
affectation ; the flavor of good talk and the sprightly con-
versation that may sparkle in front of a wood fire and that often
vanishes with the curling smoke."
In making his selection, he tells us that he excluded purely
literary criticism, the set oration, and all fiction. Within these lines
of selection there are, however, many regrettable omissions, of such
names as Mark Twain, Artemus Ward, Agnes Repplier — but who
can afford to be critical of taste in anthologies ? It is an excellent
volume to put in the hands of students.
THE EPISTLES OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS. With
Introductions and Commentary. By Joseph MacRory. St.
Louis : B. Herder. $2.75 net.
Catholic students of the Sacred Scriptures will be grateful
to Dr. MacRory for his excellent commentary on the Epistles of St.
Paul to the Corinthians. The work is chiefly intended as a textbook
for the students of his own classes of Sacred Scripture at Maynooth
College, so that he aims at brevity and deames^, and omits the
discussion of questions that would interest only the advanced
scholar.
The First Epistle is most valuable to us on account of its
teaching on Christian marriage, the Holy Eucharist, its praise of
charity, its mention of the charismata of the early Church, its proofs
of the resurrection of Jesus Christ and of the just; the Second
is important for the insight it gives into the character and personal
history of the Apostle.
682 NEW BOOKS [Aug.,
It would have been better to have printed a critical Greek
text along with the Latin, and Pustet's 1914 edition of Hetzenauer's
Latin Vulgate would have been preferable to the Turin edition of
1883 which he uses.
THE PERSONALITY OF CHRIST. By Dom Anscar Vonier,
O.S.B. New York: Longmans, Green & Co. $1.75 net
The Abbot Vonier tells us that his book is an unconventional
rendering of the most important portions of the third part of the
Summa of St. Thomas, which contains his treatise on the Incarna-
tion. While our devotional, apologetical and exegetical treatises
on the life of Christ are most niunerous, we are not so well provided
in English with strictly theological works. This volume is an
attempt to fill up the gap.
There is nothing new in this volume for the theologian, but
the educated layman will find it a treasure-house of exact
and profound thinking. Christians of the early days of Christianity
were most deeply interested in Christ's Personality and in Christ's
psychology, for the Eastern mind rejoiced in metaphysical subtleties,
and " found it more congenial to analyze its God than to analyze
itself. Western doctrinal upheavals have always been more or less
about practical things, about good works, about sanctity, about
sacraments." Our Christology comes entirely from the East.
This volimie should be read in conjunction with the English
translation of the Summa, which the English Dominicans are
now publishing.
MEMOIRS OF FATHER MAZZUCHELLI, 0J>. Translated from
the Italian by Sister M^ary Benedicta Kennedy, of Saint Qara
Convent, Sinsinawa, Wisconsin. Chicago: W. F. Hall
Printing Co. $1.50.
These memoirs of the famous Dominican missionary of the
Northwest were first published in Milan in 1844. They cover
the years 1828 to 1844, and give a very clear-cut picture
of the beginnings of Catholicism in Iowa, Michigan, Wisconsin,
and Illinois. We read with the greatest interest of his missions
among the Menomines, the Winnebagos, the Ottawas, and other
tribes; the establishing of the first churches in Dubuque, Iowa
City, Davenport, Burlington, and Galena; his controversies with
Protestant ministers, and his many conversions of non-Catholics;
and the activity of such saintly heroes as Baraga of Marquette,
1915] NEW BOOKS 683
Henni of Milwaukee, Loras of Dubuque, Cretin and Galtier of
St. Paul. Archbishop Ireland has written a long introduction which
sums up accurately the character and work of Father Mazzuchelli.
WHAT CAN I KNOW? By George Trumbull Ladd, LL.D. New
York: Longmans, Green & Co. $1.50 net.
This philosophical treatise is practically a new and popular
presentation of Professor Ladd's well-known book. The Philosophy
of Knowledge. Dr. Ladd's philosophical works — ^he has already
published over twenty volumes — are always clear-cut, scholarly,
careftdly written, and suggestive. We are glad to find many things
in this volume with which we are in cordial agreement. Occasion-
ally we must dissent from him as, for example, when he declares
that the theistic arguments based on die principle of causality arc
logically unsound and of no practical utility.
We look forward with great interest to the reading of Dr.
Ladd's other volumes. The one on Duty (What Ought I To Dof)
just published; on Faith (What Shall I Believe?), and Hope (What
May I Hope?) promised in the near future.
THE CHRISTIAN EUCHARIST AND THE PAGAN CULTS. By
William M. Groton. New York: Longmans, Green & Co.
$1.20 net.
The lectures in this volimie were given: under the auspices
of the John Bohlen Lectureship, founded in Philadelphia in 1874.
The lecturer discusses, particularly with regard to the Holy Euchar-
ist, the modem rationalistic dogma that " much, if not all, of Chris-
tian sacramentalism had its origin in the cultic ideas and practices
of paganism." Dr. Groton holds, against modem unbelief, that the
Eucharist did not come directly from the Mystery-Religions, nor
from any of the pagan cults such as Gnosticism, Mithraism, and the
like, but was an institution of our Saviotw. It is impossible to tell
from his confused pages what he himself really believes, but he
unquestionably fails to see Transubstantiation either in the sixth
chapter of St. John or in the words of otw Saviour at the Last
Supper. He apparently has never heard of Cardinal Wiseman's
interpretation of John vi. 63, and has not read Monsignor Batiffol's
two volumes on the Eucharist in primitive Christianity. He seems
to hold the absurd notion that Transubstantiation is equivalent to
the pagan belief in magic, and that the Catholic Church's over-
emphasis on the social and sacramental side of religion finally made
684 NEW BOOKS [Aug.,
it " stand almost wholly for salvation through an institution by
sacraments." The result, we are told, was that " Catholicism lost
its control over the most intelligent and progressive of its subjects."
This is history with a vengeance.
MEMOIR OF THOMAS ADDIS AND ROBERT EMMET, WITH
THEIR ANCESTORS AND IMMEDIATE FAMILY. By
Thomas Addis Emmet, LL.D. Two volumes. New York:
The Emmet Press. $10.00.
Dr. Emmet has put all true Irishmen forever in his debt by the
publication of these two elaborate histories of his famous relatives.
The author rightly contends that this work is not a mere com-
pilation as would appear at first sight, but a work of original and
laborious research. He had the advantage of learning the facts
recorded at first hand, chiefly from his grandmother and Dr. Mac-
neven. His collection of documents and illustrations are important,
not only as family records, but from an historical standpoint.
The author says well : " The fact must now be accepted that
Thomas Addis Emmet, more than any other leader in the early
part of the movement of 1798, left an indelible and individual im-
pression on Irish affairs, while Robert Emmet, althoug;h he
failed from adverse circumstances, was the originator of everything
in the Fenian movement which made it most formidable."
In a long historical preface, Dr. Emmet speaks his mind plainly
about England's " selfishness, and absence of all principle of either
honesty or fair play toward her neighbor," and gives the proper
setting for a true tmderstanding of the lives of the two famous
brothers.
A complete bibliography and an excellent index accompany
these volumes.
THE JOURNAL OF THE AMERICAN IRISH HISTORICAL
SOCIETY. Edited by Edward Hamilton Daly. Volume
XIII. New York: Published by the Society.
The thirteenth volume of the Journal of the American Irish
Historical Society contains the reports of all its officers, and the
addresses and historical papers of the year 1914. The most inter-
esting part of the volume is the list of Irish immigrants to Maine,
Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, Pennsylvania, and
Virginia in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, gathered from
shipping statistics, marriage and burial records, land grants, and
1915] NEW BOOKS 685
the like. Worthy of special comment are the papers of Dr. Coyle
on General Michael Corcoran, of James M. Graham on Irish
loyalty to American institutions, of M. J. O'Brien on William
Heron, the schoolmaster of Greenfield, Connecticut, and the speeches
at the unveiling of the Barry statue in Washington.
THE GLORY OF BELGIUM. By Roger Ingpen. New York:
George H. Doran Co. $5.00.
After a brief sketch of the history of Belgiinn, the author
describes in an entertaining fashion its old churches, palaces, town
halls, belfries and its rich treasure of the early masters. He
voyages in turn through Bruges, Antwerp, Malines, Ghent, Toumai,
Ypres, Liege, Charleroi, Namur, Dinant, Louvain and Brussels.
Many of the buildings he describes have since been destroyed by
the ravages of war. The many illustrations in color by W. L,
Bruckman are excellent.
SAFEGUARDS FOR CITY YOUTH AT WORK AND AT PLAY.
By Louise de Koven Bowen. New York: The Macmillan
Co. $1.50 net.
An unusually well-written document is this unpretending,
concise account of the origin, system and achievements of the
Chicago Juvenile Protective Association by its President. Her
purpose, most adequately fulfilled, is to set forth clearly the condi-
tions which make for the degradation of morals in the youth of
the large cities, and what legislative measures must be secured to
ameliorate them. She records the results of the investigations of
the Association, and leaves it to be inferred from the extent and
variety of the material how great must have been the labors and
devotion of the workers who amassed it.
We are explicitly told that the intention of the Association is
formative rather than reformative. It is surprising, therefore, as
well as disappointing, to find in this recital of efforts for protec-
tion no account taken, nor mention made, of the sure protection
afforded by the transformative power of personal religion.
The author leaves us little room for doubt that she subscribes
almost unreservedly to the dangerous doctrine of irresponsible
helplessness; nor does she note any forms of temptation from
within. A natural desire for recreation offers an opening to the
evil forces without: from these the girl must be protected, partly
by providing recreation at once more acceptable to her taste and
686 NEW BOOKS [Aag.,
more beneficial to her morals. All is exterior. One wonders just
what the finished formation will be like, granting that the formative
forces continue without staleness or depreciation. Vigilant legis-
lation, inspired by unceasing abundance of hinnane wisdom and
disinterested zeal — on this must ever rest the maintenance of blame-
lessness attained through lack of opportunity.
POVERTY AND WASTE. By Hartley Withers. New York: K
P. Button & Co. $1.25 net.
Mr. Withers has written a thoughtful little treatise on the
problem of modem poverty, full of suggestions as to what may
be done by the ordinary private citizen towards bringing about
a better state of things in the business affairs of the world. The
solving of the discontent of our time is not, he thinks, to be
done by the government, as Socialism maintains, but by the in-
dividual, "who as consumer and buyer of goods and services is
the cause of much of the poverty that is a blot upon our civiliza-
tion.'* According to him, the two evils that now stand in the way
of a better share of the workers in the good things of the earth,
are the dearness and scarcity of capital, and the deamess and
scarcity of food and raw materials. We all can correct these evils
by spending less on luxuries, and living more sensible lives, in
accordance with a more genuine standard of comfort.
ASPECTS OF MODERN DRAMA. By Frank Wadleigh Chandler.
New York: The Macmillan Co. $2.00.
instead of discussing the work of different dramatists accord-
ing to their country or age, our author in these lectures prefers to
illustrate the dramatic treatment of such characters as the wayward
woman (Wilde's Salome, and P'mero'sThe Second Mrs. Tanqueray)
and the priestly hero (Jones' Saints and Sinners, and Kennedy's
The Servant in the House) ; of such motives as the tyranny of
love (Stringberg's The Father); the influence of heredity and
environment (Tchekhov's Uncle Vanya), and the ideal of honor
(Echegaray's The Great Galeto) ; of such situations as are com-
monly involved in plays presenting scenes from married life
(Brieux's The Three Daughters of M. Dupont) ; of such a plot
as the eternal triangle of husband, wife and a third (D'Annunzio's
Francesca de Rimini) ; of such social problems as those of sex,
divorce, racial antagonisms, and the relation of the rich and poor
(Hervieu's The Labyrinth, Galsworthy's The Silver Box) ; and of
1915] NEW BOOKS 687
such artistic varieties as the naturalistic, the romantic, the sym-
bolic, and the poetical drama (Hauptmann's Weavers, Maeterlinck's
Sister Beatrice, Rostand's Chanticleer, and Stephen Phillips' Paolo
and Francesca) .
The author's analysis of some two hundred and eighty dif-
ficult plays, together with his bibliography of such plays, and the
critical works discussing them, will prove of great value to the col-
lege student.
PLAYS. By Leonid Andreyeff. Translated by C. L. Meader and
F. N. Scott. New York : Charles Scribner's Sons. $1.35 net.
Three plays are given in this volimie. The Black Maskers,
The Life of Man, and The Sabine Women. The last is a one-act
political satire, too local to be of general interest. The other two
bear witness impressively to the powers of the dramatist, who is
of the school of the new' thSdtre pansyche, the presentation of
thought rather than plot and action. Both plays are highly sym-
bolical, and are permeated by the Russian spirit of tragic melan-
choly. Though there is none of the modem symbolist's confusion
of the moral order, the tone is still entirely non-Christian in repre-
senting man as a victim or a rebel, uncheered by hope. While many
touches of beauty and striking pictures are found, the treatment
is massive in its simplicity, and attains to such heights that one
feels no theme would be wholly beyond the reach of the author's
lofty imagination. It is the more deeply regrettable that the sombre
warp of his genius precludes response to the world's need of spirit-
ual health and joy.
The translation shows the elusive evidence of fidelity to the
original in the use of English, which is strong and simple, without
lapsing into obscureness or banal colloquialism. The main content
is prefaced by an interesting essay on the plays and the author's
views by V. V. Brusyanin.
BRITISH AND GERMAN IDEALS. Reprinted from the Septem-
ber, 1914, and March, 1915, numbers of The Round Table.
Under this title we have reprinted from The Round Table three
articles which furnish a critical exposition of Prussianism and its
effects on Germany, Europe, and the world. The first and second
papers are a rapid survey of German political history since 1848.
The writer traces the War to the idea of German national ascen-
dancy which, after the triimiphant struggle of autocracy with the
688 NEW BOOKS [Aug.,
democratic principle, was the ideS fixe of Berlin. This idea it
is which has moulded the whole German nation into a megalomaniac
unit, to be worked this way or that according to the will of its
rulers; which has governed the repeated blows of the autocracy
at social democracy, which has given birth to the schools of thought
of the Treitschkes and the Bernhardis ; which has indicated the navy
acts of recent years, and inaugurated a foreign policy which made
notorious the Tangier, Bosnian and Agadir crises as examples
of a dangerous " mailed fist " attitude in world politics, boding
ill for the rights of any nation unable to protect itself. This aim
at domination, as opposed to equilibrium, meant little less than an
attempt to crush liberty in Europe, and thus imposes on the world a
duty of self-defence, a duty too long neglected by those whose
blindness throughout the last four decades made the present in-
ternational conflict inevitable.
The occasion of the War, the Sarajevo tragedy, is discussed in
the third paper. The writer's indictment of the Slav policy of the
Dual Empire throws much blame and responsibility on the Magyar
hegemony over the other races of Hungary.
The book gives a good deal of information on European his-
tory that is most necessary just now, but on a few points the
criticisms, coming from Englishmen, suggest an obvious remark
about people in glass houses. Nor need we add that when the
writer of the first article states that few war books arrive at the
fundamental truth of the matter, he describes a state of affairs which
readers with German sympathies will judge these essays to leave
quite unchanged. Open controversies cannot compel unanimity.
ETCHING AND OTHER GRAPHIC ARTS. By George T. Plow-
man. New York: John Lane Co. $1.50 net.
As the majority of useful books on etching are either out of
print or very expensive, this treatise of Mr. Plowman's will be
welcomed by every art lover.
The first part of the volume is devoted to the subjects necessary
to a complete understanding of etching, namely, pencil and pen
drawing, lithography, wood and line engraving, etching, dry-point,
and the like. The second part is more technical, for it tells the
beginner how to prepare the plate for the acid, how to draw on the
plate, how to bite the plate, how to rework the ground and to print.
The book is derived from notes taken by the author during the
last three years in England and on the Continent. He acknowledges
1915] iV£fF BOOKS 689
his indebtedness to Sir Frank Short of the Royal College of Art in
South Kensington, England, by whom he was initiated into the
mysteries of acid and ground.
SOME IMAGIST POETS. An Anthology. 75 cents net.
JAPANESE LYRICS. Translated by Lafcadio Hearn. The New
Poetry Series. Boston : Houghton Mifflin Co. 75 cents.
After looking through such a volume as this of the Imagist
Poets, one is reminded of a little dialogue in a recent English novel.
Two Oxford students are discussing the newest literary bantling of
the undergraduates, and " Isn't it most awful rot?" asks the one
who has not read it. To which the one who has replies serenely,
" Some of it."
It is very easy to ridicule the absurdities of " imagism," or
" cubism " or " futurism," or any of the other vagaries of ultra-
modern art and literature. It is equally easy, and still more amus-
ing, to welcome each new fad as some mysterious revelation — to
" give the age its head," as Mr. Gilbert Chesterton puts it. What
is not easy is the sober course of sane yet sympathetic criticism.
Now the " imagists," as a professed school of poetry, have been with
us somewhat less than a year and a half. Their first volume, Des
Imagistes, appeared without much explanation. The present col-
lection, contributed to by Amy Lowell, Richard Aldington, John
Gould Fletcher, " H. D.," F. S. Flint, and D. H. Lawrence, gives
their poetic " platform," to borrow a term from modern politics.
It is, briefly, a determination to use the language of ordinary speech,
chosen with exactitude ; to " create new rhythms as the expression
of new moods;" to allow free choice of subject; to present a
definite and exact image in each poem ; to " produce poetry that is
hard and clear ; and — to concentrate.
There is nothing very radical in all this. Wordsworth preached
and practised the poetry of common speech; French verse has
always been highly concentrated, and very "clear" — if not hard;
while multitudes of minor poets, since the days of Whitman, have
believed passionately in complete liberty (not to say, license!) of
verse-form and subject. So it would seem the only tenet which
may be called distinctive (and even this suggests the pictorial Pre-
Raphaelites!) is the desire to present an image — most lyrists having
been mainly concerned with presenting an emotion or a mood. By
their images, then, these verses must stand or fall. Most of them,
in the present volume, are undeniably vivid: many are grotesque
VOL. CL— 44
690 NEIV BOOKS [Aug.,
or strained. When we are told that a red rose is clear, "cut in
rock, hard as the descent of hail," we cannot be expected to take
the poet very seriously. On the other hand, when Amy Lowell
speaks of the heart that is weary of being " squeezed into little
ink-drops " and posted in a letter, or of thoughts locked up tight
until they chink like bullion, we feel the strength, albeit the " con-
ceit " also, of such imagery. The Bombardment, merely a piece
of graphic prose, has no real place in the present collection: and
the " school " is perhaps not responsible for the morbid pessimism
and somewhat puerile revolt of several of its contributors. Ima-
gism, in the large, may be considered a protest against poetry that
is either a cloud of abstractions or an avalanche of words ; and if
the present volume has slight claim to immortality, it is at least
not sterile.
It is meet enough to couple with this very new poetry a sister-
collection of verses from old Japan. Lovers of Lafcadio Heam's
fastidious Orientalism will welcome these songs gathered from his
several volumes; but, apart from his own critical context, it must
be admitted that their slight and subtle impressionism carries little
appeal to the Occidental mind. There has been no attempt to
reproduce the Japanese rhythm, nor, indeed, is metre of any kind
attempted; so that the Englished " lyrics," which include love songs,
lullabies, strange bits of insect and goblin poetry, and a fragmentary
version of the River of Heaven myth, come to us merely in snatches
of delicate, and often rather difficult, prose. Their value is mainly
for those already familiar with Japanese lore.
STAMMERING AND COGNATE DEFECTS OF SPEECH. By
C. S. Bluemel. Two volumes. New York: G. E. Stechert
& Co. $5.00 net.
The first volume of this excellent treatise discusses the causality
and psychology of stammering, while the second reviews and criti-
cizes the systems at present employed in treating stammering here
and abroad. The author has made no attempt to undertake an
historical review, for he thinks this field has been effectively covered
by Hunt in his well-known work : Stammering and Stuttering.
The author calls special attention to the great number of
fraudulent " Stammering Schools " in the United States, which have
extorted thousands of dollars from the ignorant on the promise
of a thorough and speedy cure. If the simple measures he suggests
191 5-] NEW BOOKS 691
ill his second volume (Chapter VIII.) were adopted by mothers
when their children were very young, stammering would practically
V disappear in a few decades.
SOME TEXTUAL DIFFICULTIES IN SHAKESPEARE. By
Charles D. Stewart. New Haven: Yale University Press.
$1.35 net.
In this volinne Mr. Stewart has endeavored — for the most part
successfully — to explain some twoscore of the most difficult pas-
sages in Shakespeare's plays. Some of the passages he discusses
are: "That runaway's eyes may wink" of Romeo and Juliet;
" The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body " of
Hamlet; " I see that men make ropes in such a scar " of All's Well
That Ends Well; " Ignorance itself is a plummet over me " of The
Merry Wives of Windsor; " Qualitie calmie custure me " of
Henry V.; " To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind " of
A Midsummer Night's Dream; " As those that^ fear they hope, and
know they fear " of As You Like It; " Her C's, her U's', her T's "
of Twelfth Night.
ARUNDEL. By E. F. Benson. New York: George H. Doran
Co. $1.25 net.
Arundel is a story of modem life in English middle class
suburbia. Edward Holroyd, Mr. Benson's rather dull hero, becomes
engaged to Edith Hancock, a soulless girl of his own set, when
suddenly the lively and vivacious Elizabeth Fanshawe appears upon
the scene from India. The hero, a great music lover, at once falls
violently in love with Elizabeth's piano playing, and incidentally
becomes enamored of the piano player. True to the rules of modern
romance, she tells him that she loves him in return, but that honor
requires him to be true to his engagement with her cousin. How
he keeps loyal, how Elizabeth lies to save Edith from unhappiness,
how Edith solves the problem by dying in good season — ^we leave
the reader to learn for himself.
The novel is full of excellent character sketches, although we
hope these men and women are not characteristically English. A
meaner assemblage were never gathered together in any village of
the world. Edith is a matter of fact girl on the lookout for a man
with money to make her comfortable. She is not cast in a very
high mould, for she refuses to release her fiance from his engage-
ment, even though she is convinced he no longer loves her. Edward
692 NEW BOOKS [Aug.,
is " an idealist at heart," but a man dulled by the routine of daily
business and the croquet and bridge playing of gossipy ultra respect-
able Heathmoor. Edith's mother, the placid and comfortable Mrs.
Hancock, is a woman utterly selfish, unspeakably mean, and abso-
lutely brainless. Her religion is mere extemalism, and her one
object in life is her own ease and comfort. Elizabeth's mother,
Mrs. Fanshawe, is a mere society butterfly, pleasure-loving, lazy,
insincere and unmoral. Elizabeth herself, the only character in
the book with one spark of loveableness, is a worldly agnostic,
who goes to church merely to satisfy public opinion, and whose
moral code embraces the Protestant formula, " the end justifies
the means." Mr. Martin, the golf-playing Anglican vicar, is abso-
lutely devoid of all strength of character; he is ever preaching
short, encouraging sermons, which totally ignore sin and exalt to
the skies the worldly spirit of respectability, selfishness and self-
complacency.
BEALBY. By H. G. Wells. New York: The Macmillan Co.
$1.35.
In Bealhy, Mr. Wells has given up for a time the problem novel,
and written an amusing sketch of a runaway steward's boy. In his
brief but strenuous career, little Bealby manages to spoil a most im-
portant week-end party, change a dignified Lord-Chancellor into 9
raving maniac, spoil, to all appearances, the career of an ambitious
army officer, flee the clutches of a wily and designing tramp, and
defy a whole village intent upon his capture. The story is well
written, and fairly bubbling over with fun and frolic from the
first page to the last.
THE HOUSE. By Henry Bordeaux. Translated by Louise Sey-
mour Houghton. New York: Duffield & Co. $1.35 net.
Henry Bordeaux has styled novel-writing the first of all
the literary arts, because " it comprises autobiography, metaphysics,
realism, and poetry." His latest book is a striking proof of his
thesis. It describes the life of Francois Rambert, bred in all the
good traditions of Catholic France by a perfect father and mother,
and led away from them by an unbelieving, anticlerical grandfather.
The philosophy of the book is manifest in the writer's strong
denunciation of the modern French apostasy from the Faith, which
leads the youthful hero, just awakening to self-love and independ-
ence, into the vortex of irreligion and sensuality. We have realism
1915] NEIV BOOKS 693
in FranQois' puppy love for the young gypsy girl Nazzarena, in his
initiation at the free and easy Cafe des Navigateurs, and in the
well-drawn characters of Tern Bessette and Mimi Pachoux. We
have poetry in our author's vivid picturing of his one pet theme,
the Home, in all the beauty of its loyalty, faith, sacrifice, and love.
The Home is triumphant at last, and the rebellious Franqois is won
back to its faith and love at the deathbed of his sturdy and devout
father. La Maison (The House) repeats Les Roquevillards (The
Will to Live), and Les Yeux qui s'Ouvrent (The Awakening), but
the style is more lively and clear cut. Bordeaux is one of the best
novelists of contemporary France.
UNDER WHICH FLAG? A Romance of the Bourbon Restora-
tion. By Edith Stani forth. St. Louis: B. Herder. $1.00.
Nothing in this novel lifts it out of the rank and file, though
the period in which it is laid is a newer field for historical fiction
than usual. The author is well acquainted with the history of the
times and, indeed, inserts so much of it that her work oscillates
between a textbook and a romance. The story is ill-constructed,
and does not hold the attention ; there is no interest of characteriza-
tion, and the dialogue is unimaginative and conventional. The
books gives the impression of having been written to voice the
author's anti-Napoleon sentiments.
PROBLEMS OF COMMUNITY LIFE. An Outline of Applied
Sociology. By Seba Eldridge. New York: Thomas Y.
Crowell Co. $1.00.
Mr. Eldridge says in his preface that " the analysis of com-
munity life here presented was undertaken in the belief that work-
ing and living conditions in New York had not received the system-
atic study requisite to relatively complete knowledge and control of
them; and in the hope that it would serve as an introduction to
scientific, comprehensive treatment of this character."
We consider Mr. Eldridge utterly unfit to solve the problems
of community life. He is an out-and-out pagan, advocating the
" sterilization of the feeble-minded and the criminal, the liberaliza-
tion of marriage customs and laws in accordance with varying sex
demands," etc. It is difficult at times to tell what the author is
driving at, for he fights shy of all sentence structure, and makes
his volume look like a dictionary or a telephone book. Despite
the publishers' announcement, we do not think this work will ever
694 NEIV BOOKS [Augr.,
be regarded as an indispensable textbook in our high schools or
colleges.
THE CURSE OF CASTLE EAGLE. By Katharine Tynan. New
York: Duffield & Co. $1.25.
Many of our readers who read The Curse of Castle Eagle in
the pages of The Catholic World, will welcome this novel in
book form. The story tells how the beautiful Meg Hildebrand
lifted the curse from the House of Turloughmore. According to
the curse, every Lord Turloughmore must die a bloody death. The
story tells of the saving of the shipwrecked father, who breaks the
curse by dying in his bed, and the successful wooing of the charming
heroine by Lord Erris.
PRESCRIPTIONS. A Collection of Extracts from Dr. Richard
C. Cabot's What Men Live By. Selected by Edith Motter
Lamb. Boston : Houghton Mifflin Co. 50 cents.
Readers holding Dr. Cabot's book in high regard, and looking
over this little volume of extracts, will not all concur in the editor's
certainty, as indicated in her foreword, that benefit will derive from
its publication. This is not to impugn her literary sagacity and
sincerity of intention, nor by any means to intimate that the work
could have been more successfully accomplished by other hands.
What Men Live By should, we think, be judged only in its entirety,
which is so moderate in size that there are not many who could not
find time to read it. The content, though composed of four treatises
on "Work," "Play," "Love," and "Worship," respectively, is
compact of thought connected and colored by a spirit of definite
worship, which does not wait for consideration in its assigned
place as fourth in the sequence, but underlies and sustains the whole
fabric. This is not duly apparent in the extracts taken from the
first three, and thereby they lose their deepest significance. The
eflFect is misleading, and has already had the result that the charge
of pantheism has been brought against the book by a verdict based
solely on Prescriptions,
POEMS. By Armel O'Connor. With a frontispiece in color by
Alice Rocke. St. Louis : B. Herder. 75 cents net.
We have only words of praise for this slender volume of verse.
The work is remarkable for sincerity and precision of thought,
and for beauty and delicacy of expression. With the exception of
1915] NEW BOOKS 695
two or three rather vague and wordy poems, the great majority of
Mr. O'Connor's verses deserve quoting. We Were particularly im-
pressed by the sweet devotional hymns to Our Lady — " Our Lady of
the Doves," " Our Lady's Vigil," " Mater Dei "—and by the sad
strains of " Sorrow's Voice " and " Broken Hearts."
SERMON MATTER. By Rev. F. Girardey, C.SS.R. St. Louis:
B. Herder. $1.50 net.
Father Girardey has, in the present volume, suggested outlines
of sermons on the love of God, the love of our neighbor, the Blessed
Eucharist, the Sacrament of Penance, and the seven capital sins.
The author is well known as a preacher of ability, and a writer of
a number of excellent devotional works. This book will prove
helpful to the young priest on the lookout for sermon material,
although we trust that it will not be a substitute for the real labor
of sermon preparation.
THE FRIAR PREACHER: YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY.
Translated from the French of Pere Jacquin, O.P., by Father
Hugh Pope, O.P. New York : Benziger Brothers. 75 cents.
In this small, but entertaining volimie, Pere Jacquin sets
forth briefly the origins, the objects, and the ideak of the Dominican
Order. After a preliminary chapter on the work actually accom-
plished by St. Dominic himself, he treats of the Dominican ideal,
and declares the true object of this Order to be theological doctrinal
teaching, whether in the pulpit or in the professor's chair. The
translation is excellent.
MEMOIRS OF ZI PRE' (Uncle Priest). By E. M. Dunne, D.D.,
Bishop of Peoria. St. Louis : B. Herder. 50 cents net.
The Bishop of Peoria has written an excellent treatise on
Catholic doctrine in the form of a lively controversy between the
young theologian Pasqualino and the apostate Italian proselytizer,
Antonio. The most interesting part of the volume deals with Bishop
Dunne's experiences among the Italians of the Angel Guardian
Parish in Chicago, where for years he was a most successful pastor.
LES CLOCHES DES MORTS. By the Author of By the Grey Sea.
St. Louis: B. Herder. 45 cents net
This book is not, as the title would indicate, written in French,
but in English, and, apparently, by an Englishman. Jt records, in
696 NEW BOOKS [Aug.,
gentle, ruminative style, a visit paid over-seas to the tomb of a
loved one, long departed.
Scattered through its pages are many clear-sighted observations
and words of wisdom. Perhaps too much is ventured by the writer
in attempting to record his spiritual experiences at the well-loved
grave, for such emotions are, in reality, personal, and lose somewhat
of their contour in the telling. Such a description will not, how-
ever, be without its message of comfort and assurance to " those
who mourn."
THE CONVERSION OF C-ffiSARE PUTTI. By W. Hall-Patch.
New York : Benziger Brothers. 35 cents.
This book of some forty pages gives us a pen picture of six-
teenth century Rome. It brings out clearly the winning personality
of St. Philip Neri, and describes his conversion of the bandit,
Caesare Putti.
THE LIVING TOUCH. By Dorothy Kerin. New York: The
Macmillan Co. $1.00 net.
Miss Kerin in these pages gives an account of her professed
miraculous restoration to health when in the last stage of phthisis.
Although she supports her story by a number of testimonies of
doctors, nurses and relatives, the whole affair strikes us as unreal.
The many messages given her by the Lord and His angels appear
to us to be the imaginings of a neurotic pietist.
FIRST BOOK FOR ITALIANS. By Bernard H. Burke. Boston :
Edward E. Rabb & Co.
The little volume published as a " first aid " to the Italian seek-
ing to learn English, is the outcome of the author's experience in the
conducting of evening classes among immigrants. It is arranged
especially with a view to concentrating attention on like-sounding
words, at each new stage of progress, so that phonetic difficulties
may be overcome more easily. The vocabulary is simple, and the
spirit of the volume very practical.
A POPULAR LIFE OF ST. TERESA. Translated from the French
of Abbe Marie Joseph. By Annie Porter. New York: Ben-
ziger Brothers. 50 cents.
We are indebted to Miss Porter for a good translation of the
Abbe Joseph's popular life of St. Teresa of Jesus. The story of
1915] NEIV BOOKS 697
the Saint's labors, miracles, and writings is told in a simple and
entertaining manner.
OUR KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST. By Lucius Hopkins Miller,
Assistant Professor of Biblical Instruction at Princeton Uni-
versity. New York: Henry Holt & Co. $1.00 net.
Professor Miller tells us in his preface that " the hardest
problem of all is to maintain one's Christian spirit in the midst of
the hurly-burly of our distracted modem life." He then sets about
writing a book for the liberals of our day who cannot accept the
official interpretation of Christian truth. In the course of it our
author denies the Trinity, the Virgin Birth, the Divinity of Jesus
Christ, the Resurrection, the authenticity and genuinity of the
Gk)spels, and the like. He reminds us of the surgeon who cured
his patient of cancer by cutting off his head.
WHAT IS THE SACRED HEART? Translated from the French
of the Abbe Felix Anizan by Rev. John Fitzpatrick, O.M.I.
Dublin: M. H.Gill & Co.
Father Fitzpatrick has translated the well-known treatise of
the Abbe Anizan on the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Chapter I. treats
of the object of the devotion, while Chapter II. gives the theological
definition of the Sacred Heart. The ruling idea of the whole book
is that this devotion is nothing else than devotion to Jesus Himself,
revealing Himself to us through the evidences of His love, and
showing us His heart as symbol of that love. The book, although
theologically accurate, is utterly lacking in distinction of style.
GETTING A WRONG START. New York: The MacmiUan Co.
$1.00.
This anonymous autobiography has the sub-title : " The Con-
fessions of a Successful Failure." It purports to be the life-story
of a present-day writer of successful fiction, and its author gives
us to understand that it was written at great sacrifice of his inclina-
tions in response to his conviction that he had a message of
assistance to others who, like himself, class themselves as failures.
The numbers and hardships of this pathetic class increase so much
under the conditions of our cruelly " efficient " age, that a manual
of self-help would be a boon, and our hopes are aroused.
The book is a rambling, incoherent record of experiences, not
detailed enough to be interesting of themselves, in various occu-
698 NEfV BOOKS [Aug.,
pations taken up and abandoned, until at length the speaker began
to write fiction, in which he achieved a measure of the success
which had been hitherto denied him. He deplores, with monot-
onous frequency, the handicap of inheritance under which he
struggled, yet he points to no connection between his unfortunate
temperament and his repeated " wrong starts." He urges those
of like temperament to look within until they realize the truth,
but he does not advise them as to what they shall do next. In fact,
he avows his belief that the determining factors in man's life are
two, which are not in his control, luck and heredity. In conclusion,
he gives his personal assurance that they will one day find the foot
of their rainbow, and faintly recommends something resembling
prayer to a vague outside power which he calls " the something
plus."
The book is not long, but it is much too long for any sort
of effectiveness. Condensed by two-thirds, it might be more in-
telligible.
WE have received from Benziger Brothers (New York) the fol-
lowing selection of juvenile books at 35 cents each : The Mad
Knight (The Adventures of Don Quixote), adapted from the Ger-
man of Otto V. Schaching by K. Devir; Daddy Dan, by Mary T.
Waggaman ; The Madcap Set at St, Anne's, by Marion J. Brunowe ;
The Little Apostle on Crutches, by Henriette E. Delamare; Mirdda,
a story of the negro plantations in Cuba, by Katherine Mary
Johnston; The Haldeman Children, by Mary E. Mannix; The
Young Color Guard, by Mary E. Bonesteel ; The Little Lady of the
Hall, by Nora Ryeman.
IN the July issue of The Catholic World, the price of the English
translation of The Life of Saint Severinus, by George W. Robin-
son, published by the Harvard University Press, was stated to be
$2.50: the correct price is $1.50.
Note. — On account of the non-arrival of the foreign period-
icals, we have been compelled to omit that department this month. —
[Ed. C. W.]
IRecent jCvents*
The Editor of The Catholic World wishes to state that none
of the contributed articles or departments, signed or unsigned, of
the magcLzine, with the exception of " With Our Readers,'' voices
the editorial opinion of the magazine. And no article or department
voices officially the opinion of the Paulist Community.
The offensive movement of the French and
Progress of the War. British forces, which has so long been looked
for, has not yet begun, and is said to be
indefinitely postponed perhaps until next spring. On the other
hand, the German drive for Calais, by way of Ypres, and for
Paris, by way of St. Mihiel, are also still to come. Slight advances
have been made by the British; those by the French have been
more important The push towards Lens is, however, still a long
way from its goal. In Alsace-Lorraine some gains have been made.
Small though these gains have been, the advantage has been on the
side of the Allies. On the Eastern front the opposite must be said.
While the attempt on Riga has failed, the Germans hold a consider-
able extent of ground in Courland, including the seaport of Libau.
No change of any moment has taken place in the relative positions
of the adversaries in the lines held in Poland in front of Warsaw.
But a vast change has taken place in Galicia. On the third of
June, Przemysl was re-taken by the German and Austrian forces,
and on the twenty-second Lemberg was re-occupied by the second
Austrian army under General Bohm-Ermolli. The Russians re-
tired in good order towards the line of the Bug, but have not been
followed by the Germans in great force, and still remain in Austrian
territory. The main line of attack of the Austro-German armies
has been diverted towards Warsaw. It is expected that another
attempt to capture the capital of Russian Poland will be made.
Although the loss of Lemberg and of almost the whole of
Galicia is a serious reverse, it has not proved a disaster, nor even a
defeat of the first magnitude. If the Russian armies had been
smashed or even separated, the Germans would have attained the
real object of the campaign. Neither of these results has been
obtained. Major Moraht, the Military Correspondent of the
700 RECENT EVENTS [Aug.,
Berliner Tagehlatt, has written to disabuse the world of the idea
that the fall of Lemberg was a decisive military event. The Rus-
sians have been forced to give up the possession of a certain
amount of territory only in order to take up another line. The
fighting power of its armies remain unimpaired and its morale
unshaken, thus preventing that transfer of troops to the Western
front which is essential to success against the French. The resil-
iency of Russia has been exemplified many times before, and already
signs are being shown that such will be the case again. " Russia," as
has been well said, " retreats, but she falls back upon her supports ;
Germany advances, but she lengthens her line of communications.
The Germans gain ground, but they lose men. They gain time,
but Russia can afford to wait Can Germany? "
A warfare is still being carried on between Russians and
Tiu-ks in the Caucasus, but little is known as to the results; they
may be taken as indecisive. In the neighborhood of the Persian
Gulf, Turkish efforts to drive back the British-Indian forces have
met with no success. No further attempt has been made upon
Egypt. In the Dardanelles the conflict is still going on with small
and slow gains for the Allies. Italy has gone slowly, but has
secured most of the passes on her frontier which the Treaty of
1866 had given to Austria. Thereby she has freed herself from
the danger of an invasion which the possession of these passes
had given to her enemy. Trieste, however, has not yet fallen, nor
even Gorz. By the final surrender to General Botha of the German
forces in Southwest Africa, an extent of territory half as large
again as the German Empire in Europe has been lost to Germany
and added to the British Empire. In Cameroon the contest is still
going on. German East Africa is the sole colony of Germany
which remains intact, but an enemy is hovering on its borders, and
has already secured some few points on the Lake.
The nation still holds an undaunted and
France. undivided front to the enemy. Even the
Socialists, among whom both in Germany
and Great Britain there are found a few who, in greater or less
degree, are in favor of making peace overtures of one kind or
another, have refused to associate themselves with these endeavors.
Replying to a request made by advocates in Great Britain for the
holding of a Peace Conference at The Hague, the Secretary of the
1915] RECENT EVENTS 701
National Coniinittee of the French Section of the Workers' Inter-
national gave as its definite answer the resolution passed by the
Permanent Administrative Commission, that such a meeting was
not materially possible nor morally desirable. Even the women of
France are so united that none could be found to attend that Peace
Conference at The Hague to which Miss Jane Addams went, and
which was attended by delegates from both Great Britain and
Germany. The deepest feeling and determination of French men
and women of all classes and creeds is that French soil must be
freed of its invaders before even talk about peace is to be thought of.
Even boys are so eager for service that there are instances of their
having taken special means to render themselves fit to enter the
army. As a matter of fact, there is no sign that public sentiment in
France is wearying of the war. To quote the words of the President
of th^ Federation des Comites de TAUiance Fran^ise dans les lies
Britanniques : " We Frenchmen know too well what would become
of our country if we were vanquished, and therefore we are abso-
lutely determined to fight to a finish. Whatever political party or
religious creed we belong to, we, one and all, are united in a complete
confidence in our civilian and military leaders, and in our firm will
and trust finally to conquer."
The priests have borne themselves so nobly that they have
earned the title of the Knightly Priests of France. Those taking
part in the war number some twenty thousand, drawn both from
the secular clergy and Religious Orders. Carthusians, Jesuits,
Dominicans, Salesians, Norbertines, Benedictines are found taking
an active part in the service of their country. Men high in office
in the Church are privates in the army, and there are instances of
priests having military command over dignitaries of the Church.
The young men are serving in the first line, the older men are
employed as stretcher-bearers and hospital orderlies. The military
chaplains are always men over forty-eight years of age, and their
work is entirely ecclesiastical. Those serving as combatants have
entered upon their work with such zest that their service is looked
upon as of the finest order, even by officers who are known to
have a decided anti-Catholic bias. A general of this reputation
always chose priests for difficult ambulance work, on the ground
that they were always "steady under fire, indifferent to death,
untiringly energetic and unfailingly cheerful." Hence their moral
influence among the men is immense, and endless anecdotes are told
of their courage, good humor, and splendid fighting spirit. There
70^ RECENT EVENTS [Aug.,
are numberless incidents of soldier-priests who have saved the lives
of their comrades at the risk of their own. A wonderful influence
for good may be expected at the end of the war, the priests having
so manifestly followed in the footsteps of Him Who was among
His disciples as one Who served. A fuller account of the work
accomplished by the French clergy is found in a little book of
the Comtesse de Courson, entitled The Soldier Priests of France.
The thrift of the French people is well known, and was exem-
plified, after the Franco-German War, by the way in which they paid
from thSr savings the milliards exacted by Bismarck for the beating
he had inflicted on them. One of the wonders of the present war
is that, relatively speaking, very little poverty and very little sickness
are found among the French people. Trade, at least in the large
stores in the centre of Paris, is brisk and cheerful. In the country
the fields are being cultivated up to, and sometimes within, the range
of the German shells. The cost of living has not gone up more
than thirty per cent, while that of luxuries has gone down. The
wealth of France is said to be fabulous. The savings, which in
1870 the people used to pay the war indemnity, are now being used
to keep things going until Germany is sufficiently beaten to make
her pay the indemnity. The loans which have been issued by flie
Government for defraying the expenses of the war, are being taken
up in ever-increasing proportion by the public as a whole, as dis-
tinguished from the financiers. For the first loan the public sub-
scribed hardly one-half, while for the second it subscribed three
times the amount allotted to the banks, thereby showing the ever-
growing confidence of the people in the Government, and a deter-
mination to continue the war to the end. The cost allotted for
fourteen months of war is, roughly speaking, four billions four
hundred millions.
As time goes on confidence and trust grow stronger between
France and Great Britain. In the first days of the war distrust of
Great Britain was widespread and openly expressed in France.
This passed away, however, as soon as war was declared on Ger-
many by Great Britain. But, on the other hand, doubt existed
among the British, not of the good faith and integrity of the French,
but of their steadfastness and even of their capability to resist
and to hold firm. France, it was often said, was decadent. It
might resist for a spurt, but would it hold out? The experience
of the past twelve months has demonstrated to both nations,
and to the world, how baseless these mutual apprehensions
1915] RECENT EVENTS 703
were. France, with Belgium, has borne so bravely the
heaviest part of this formidable struggle without complaining, and
even proudly, that her ally no longer has any fear. On France's
part, it need not be said, there is no dread of Great Britain's proving
faithless, or even inefficient. In the words of the Temps, speaking
of the result of the munitions agitation : "The spectacle presented by
Great Britain to-day is such as to remove the last doubts as to the
degree of military power which our British ally is in process of
attaining. The enlistment of all the resources of the country may
be compared, as regards its efficacy and the additional aid which
it will bring to the common cause, to the support of a* new ally."
France realized more quickly than Great Britain the fact that
this war depends for its success upon the organization of labor
as much as upon the valor of the soldier. " Business as usual "
has been unknown in French factories. Every peaceful activity has
been abandoned if it conflicted with the proper conduct of the war.
Everything has given way to the necessity imposed upon the nation
of driving out the invader — trade union agreements, labor regula-
tions, factory legislation, rules of pay have all been suspended, if
their suspension has contributed to the war output of the country.
The men themselves have been the first to recognize the urgency of
the hour, and the first to approve of the sacrifices they have been
called upon to make. The country was from the beginning of the
war divided into districts, and officials were placed in control to
indicate the wants of the Government, and to call upon the manu-
facturers to supply those wants. The latter can requisition labor
as they require it, and by a recent law even workmen serving as
soldiers can be called back to the workshops. These measures have
had good results. Notwithstanding the fact that eighty per cent of
the metals needed for munitions is ordinarily derived from districts
now in the occupation of the enemy, France has been able to keep
her supply going without it. Fresh resources have been discovered,
new processes created, and every problem which arose has been
met. Steps have recently been taken further to mobilize the scien-
tific forces of the country. A committee of technical officers, who
have been fighting in the trenches and have in this way learned the
requirements of this kind of warfare, has been formed to help
inventors and their research work, and thus to baffle the ingenuity
of the Germans. A second committee keeps manufacturers in
touch with the needs of the army.
704 RECENT EVENTS [Aug.,
Confidence in success is still the dominating
Germany. note in Germany. It is indeed no longer
" we shall win," or " we cannot lose," but
" we must win," expressing the grim resolve to put forth every
ounce of energy, and to apply every resource of intelligence to bring
this result about. Some justification for this confidence may be
found if one judges by recent happenings alone. Their armies are
now, with but the smallest exception, fighting or firmly planted on
the soil of their enemies, especially after the recent stupendous
victories over the Russians in Galicia. But if it is remembered that
at the beginning of the war they were even more confident than
they now are, that in a few weeks they would be in Paris, and that
at that time their strength was overwhelmingly greater than it is
to-day, in comparison with that of their opponents, it will be seen
that their confidence is no guarantee of their success. It is largely
based on misinformation and a misunderstanding of the minds of
other people. Germany, is in fact, now in a state of siege, and
almost isolated. But it is as determined as ever not to yield, and,
so far as can be learned about this, there is no dissenting voice.
The only point on which conflict of opinion has arisen, or at
least has been made manifest, is the terms on which peace is to be
made. In spite of all their pacific professions, the Social Democrats
at the beginning fell into line with the rest of their countrymen
in taking up arms for what they were taught was the defence of
their country. This they did, however, upon the condition said
to have been openly expressed that no annexation of foreign ter-
ritory was contemplated, or would be admitted. Now the rest
of their fellow-countrymen are advocating the annexation of Bel-
gium and the taking possession of a part of the coast of Northern
France. They have even fixed the exact point which is to form
the boundary of the extended Germany, that is to say, Berck-Plage,
an old Flemish fishing village fifteen miles southwest of Boulogne.
German professors have decided that the Flemings are really Ger-
mans, and this renders it necessary to take possession of all the
districts ever occupied by them. The Social Democrats, by a more
or less large majority, acquiesce in these proposals, but a minority
has given expression to its dissent. A manifesto signed by three
Social Democrats, called by the semi-official North-German Gazette
the leaders of the party, appeared in the Vorwdrts. It is therein
declared that the Socialist Party has always fought unanimously
the policy of conquest and annexation, and the sharpest protest is
I9IS.] RECENT EVENTS 70S
uttered against all the efforts that are being made by economists
and the members of non-Socialist parties to do violence to the
territory of others. This purpose, they declare, will prolong the
war indefinitely, and put off that peace — ^and this is the most inter-
esting part of the manifesto — " for which the whole people so
ardently yearns. The people desire no annexations. The people
desire peace." For the publication of this manifesto the Vorwdrts
was suppressed by the Government, but this, of course, does not
affect the truth of the statements which it made. An organ of the
Prussian Conservative Party has shared with the Vorwdrts the
fate of suppression, although in this case it was only for a time.
An article by the notorious Count Reventlow was the cause, an
article which is generally considered to have been written at the
instigation of Grand Admiral von Tirpitz, or as an expression
of his views. As the suppression was due to the Chancellor, there
seems to be reason to think that the diplomatists of Germany are
not in sympathy with the militarists. On which side the Kaiser
is to be placed, can be said with no certainty. He is reported to
have written that he could have peace to-morrow, if such were his
wish, and to have fallen down on his knees by the side of dead
German soldiers exclaiming, " It is not by my will that these men
have died." It is to be feared, however, that the decision no longer
rests with the Kaiser.
The hopes of success still entertained, notwithstanding the
appalling losses which have been sustained — at the beginning of
June the German casuality lists filled a book of nearly seven thou-
sand closely-printed pages — rests largely on what is called the
"splendid triumphs " of German inventive genius. The use of
asphyxiating gas is not apologized for: on the contrary, it is
gloried in. In fact, it is asserted that its use is at present only
in an experimental stage. It will, it is expected, be a substitute
for high explosive shells, as it is more easily transported, and has
a more deadly effect. " A few tanks of gas will do the work of a
thousand shells." Great hopes are placed, also, in the new and
much larger submarines which it is said are being built. It was
really impossible, from the German point of view, that the American
demand should be granted. The naval supremacy of Great Britain
and the starvation of England are the objects most dearly desired.
In fact, it is believed by many in Germany that both these objects
are on the point of being accomplished. The truth really is that
so large have been the importations of wheat since the " blockade "
VOL. CT.*-45
7o6 RECENT EVENTS [Aug.,
began, that the price of bread has just been reduced, as well as the
rates of freight; while as for the navy, not since the first months
of the war has a single British man-of-war been lost in British
waters. In their Zeppelins also the Germans still place unbounded
faith, if not in their present shape, at all events in their super-
Zeppelins which are promised. To many Germans there is no doubt
but that the time is at hand when a phalanx of Zeppelins and aero-
planes, advancing four abreast in battle formation, will sweep over
Britain in a night and destroy the chief arsenals and factories,
and above all London. Nor is the projected invasion of England
yet given up in despair. After Russia has been defeated, a supreme
effort is to be made to reach Calais. When it has been taken it
will form a base for the invasion. The new guns, which have a
range of over twenty-six miles, will sweep the Channel clear of
hostile ships, and cover a landing of troops. Small aluminum boats
will be transported, in which to embark these troops; submarines
will guard them. A landing once effected all will be over. " When
William the Conqueror came over from Normandy, it never oc-
curred to the inhabitants of London to offer any resistance, and
this," such is the prophecy of certain Germans, " will be the case
again." The mere recounting of such extravagancies seems childish
were it not for the fact that these ideas are being widely cherished,
forming, in fact, the ground in the minds of many for continuing
the war.
A word must be said about the financial arrangements of
Germany. These cannot be explained by a writer whose knowledge
of this subject is very limited; but experts apply to the system
adopted since the war the epithet " Munchausen," and declare that
in the event of defeat, bankruptcy, almost universal, is inevitable,
and that this is widely recognized in Germany. An authority of
weight in banking circles affirms that if peace were made to-mor-
row, Austria-Hungary, would immediately become bankrupt, al-
though she might pay a dividend of eleven per cent to her creditors.
Germany would also be bankrupt, though in her case the dividend
might be as high as fifteen or sixteen per cent. Victory over all
her enemies and a huge indemnity form the only way of escape.
This forms another motive for the continuance of hostilities. It
is upon Great Britain that the burden of paying this indemnity
will fall, as her Allies will not have the means. Germans are busy
at the present time in making calculations of the sum to be
Jevied upon the British. Germany received from France two and
1915.] RECENT EVENTS 707
one-half times the total cost of the campaign of 1870-71. Reckon-
ing on this basis, Germany, Austria-Hungary and Turkey should
receive something like twenty thousand millions at the present time,
and if the war is long continued, the cost would be doubled. Every
German, it is said by well-informed observers, believes that England
will pay this huge stun, not all at once — ^that would be impossible.
An invasion and occupation of England are therefore essential.
The greatest enemy of Great Britain will hardly deny that she is
justified in making every effort to escape such a fate.
The reverses in Galicia have led to a re-
Russia* construction of the Cabinet. The War
Minister has disappeared, a circumstance
which has led to jubilation in Berlin. Other changes have been
made and more are contemplated, all of which are said to be in a
Liberal direction. As the loss of Lemberg has in no way diminished
the morale of the army, so likewise, as regards the civil government
and the people in general, it has not weakened in the slightest
degree the determination to carry on the war until the desired result
has been attained. The Tsar has issued a Rescript in which the
nation is summoned to increased efforts in the prospect of a pro-
longed war. The Tsar declares that he has made this call in
response to the appeals made to him by the people, appeals which
promise their cooperation in supplying that lack of munitions which
was the sole reason of the recent defeats. The national unanimity
makes a brilliant result certain. Peace is impossible, the Tsar de-
clares, before the enemy is crushed. Russia's strength is inexhaust-
ible if the harmonious work of all is secured. The Diuna is sum-
moned before the usual time, in order that the Legislature and the
representatives of industry may do what Germany did long years
before the war, and what France and Great Britain have been doing
since — ^thc organization of all the resources of the country for the
one end.
Up to the present time, the Finns have not been called upon
to join the army. This was due to the fact that they were legally
exempt. The call which has now been issued, and which, as issued,
in no way violates the constitutional rights of the Grand Duchy,
has now been made. It is not expected that any difficulty will
arise. At the same time, a small cloud appears on tlie horizon in
the shape of anti-Russian agitation in Sweden. The cause of this
7o8 RECENT EVENTS [Aug.,
movement is the suspicion which is felt in certain circles that
Russia is seeking a port on the coast of Sweden, which for the
whole year is free from ice. The enormous advantage the pos-
session of such a port would prove to Russia, makes it clear how
strong the temptation must be to violate Swedish neutrality. As
things are now, for every dollar Russia spends in foreign purchases,
she receives only eighty cents in value. Uninterrupted commerce
with the rest of the world would set this and other matters right.
But so far as is known, Swedish apprehensions are without founda-
tion. But there may be Finns who, as a consequence of Russian
treatment in the past, may be willing to sympathize with the move-
ment. This is, however, nothing more than a conjecture.
In all the Balkan States, except Servia and
The Balkan States. Montenegro, a secret diplomatic campaign
is being carried on. Germany, as well as
the Allies, has its friends and supporters in each and all. Political
parties are divided on the question whether to remain neutral or to
take part with France, Great Britain and Italy. Popular sentiment
is said to be in favor of the Entente Powers. The Governments
are still hesitating, however, and for various reasons. Their re-
sources are small, and so far it is not quite clear to them that
Germany will be beaten. The officers of the General StaflF at
Athens, Sofia and Bukarest are almost cowed by the idea which
they have formed of German military efficiency. The mutual dis-
trust of each other is another factor, and one of supreme impor-
tance. Rumania is afraid of Bulgaria; Bulgaria is afraid both of
Greece and Rumania, while Greece is afraid of Bulgaria. In the
last-named State, M. Venezelos has returned to an active partici-
pation in the political life of the nation. The party which supports
him is now in a large majority in the new Parliament, which was
to meet on the twentieth of the past month. He is one of the few
statesmen of the continent who has proved his capacity for great
achievements. It may be that he will find a way of reconciling the
Balkan States, and of laying the foundation of lasting prosperity.
With Our Readers.
" THE AMERICAN HEBREW " AND
" THE CATHOLIC WORLD."
BY JOSEPH V. MCKEE, A.M.
THE AMERICAN HEBREW, a Jewish weekly, has taken up the
question of secondary education that was outlined in the article,
A Serious Problem, which appeared in the May number of The
Catholic World. Although the article was of moment primarily
to Catholics, it pointed out a state of affairs that might well take up
the attention of the Jewish people. But instead of realizing the true
import of the article, the editor of The American Hebrew has unfor-
tunately misinterpreted the intention of the writer, and has considered
A Serious Problem an attack upon the Jew. Under the caption Catholic
World Writer Discusses "Menace of the JevJ' from Educational View-
point, he presents a lengthy quotation from the article, and, in an
editorial, comments adversely upon it. He considers the statements
concerning the Jewish students in our high schools unfair, prejudiced
and " unworthy of any man who wishes his words to be considered as
coming from a reliable source." He prints also a letter from a cor-
respondent who, in ignorance of the meaning of the word, brands the
article as " scurrilous " and dictated by race prejudice.
Controversies are at all times unpleasant, but the editor of The
American Hebrew has so mistaken the purpose of the article that it is
necessary to lay aside any such consideration and take up the issue.
The writer does so only in the hope that he may correct the misinter-
pretation of the article. Justice and regard for the truth compel him
to endeavor to right The American Hebrew in its wrongly conceived
idea of the attitude of the writer.
In this article which has incurred the censure of The American
Hebrew, the writer outlined the conditions existing in our secondary
education, particularly here in New York City. For many years our
Catholic people have striven to build and perfect a system of elementary
education which might give their children true training in soul and
intellect. And in this they have succeeded admirably. Meanwhile,
secondary education has, it would seem, been neglected. Although New
York is a cosmopolitan city, possessing about five million people of
every race and creed, its high schools are attended in overwhelming
majorities by the boys of Jewish parents. The Jewish race comprises
about twenty-five per cent of the city's population, yet the Jewish
7IO WITH OUR READERS [Aug.,
students represent seventy-five per cent of the enrollment in the city
high schools. These pupils, who are thus taking advantage of the
training afforded, will in later years have greater power to shape
thought and to influence public opinion than will our Catholic youth,
who seem now to be neglecting the finer equipment that secondary
education gives. We cannot look forward with security to such a
time. Because of the false ideals which modern life has raised, these
students are with little difficulty weaned irom the ideals of Judaism.
They are especially susceptible to the attractions seductively oflFered
by present-day materialistic philosophy, and become Socialists of
pronounced types. With the refining influence of religion gone, they
set up standards which are based on essentially materialistic principles.
It is our work and duty to give our Catholic boys the advantage of
secondary education so that, thus adequately equipped, they may be
enabled to meet the demands and exigencies of later life.
In presenting these facts for consideration, it was the purpose
of the writer to draw the attention of Catholics to this state of aflFairs
which exists to-day in secondary education. It was his intention to
rouse Catholics to the realization that they were neglecting to provide
adequately for the future welfare of their boys.
This problem, which is essentially a Catholic one, arises not from
the fact that the Jewish boys are attending our city high schools,
but because our Catholic boys are not.
In no sense did the article take its rise from race prejudice,
nor in any way was it meant to be an attack on the Jewish people as
such. It carried no complaint because the Jews are using the means
for education which a liberal city offers; it found no fault because
the Hebrews are exercising their constitutional rights as citizens. It
did state, however, that the apparent apathy of Catholics toward higher
education was a matter of serious moment. It did point out that there
is cause to fear the influence in later years of these boys now in our
high schools, because they are fast laying aside tlie restraints of their
religion and, though Jews in name and race, are becoming Socialists
in creed and practice.
This undoubtedly does constitute a serious problem for the Catho-
lic, but even a more serious one for the Jew. No man who cares for
the faith of his fathers, can watch with complacency the operation of
forces which are destroying that faith in his younger sons. The
orthodox Jew loves his religion. The heritage of Moses and Elias and
the other prophets is dear to him, and makes his life rich in ceremony
and ritual. When, therefore, he is warned that influences are working
insidiously to win his children from their religion, he should instantly
take a determined stand not against those who point out the danger,
but against the evil itself.
1915] ^yiTH OUR READERS 711
We would wish that the editor of The American Hebrew had
done this. Instead, unfortunately, he has turned his energies against
the writer. After drawing certain conclusions which cannot be justified
in reason, he protests most vehemently against the statement that
in the discussion of ethical questions the Jewish students by *' their
words constantly show that they recognize no code of morals, and
are governed by no motives higher than those originating from fear
of detection and consequent loss in money." The statement clearly
conveys the idea intended — not that these Jewish boys are without
any morals and therefore immoral, but that their conception of their
duties as social beings has no higher origin than the consideration
of worldly gain or loss.
Although this meaning is patent, the editor of The American
Hebrew has failed to grasp it. He writes: "When, however, Mr.
McKee contends that Jewish students in their discussion of casualistic
problems 'constantly show that they recognize no code of morals,! we
have no hesitation in stigmatizing his statement as made out of the
whole cloth " Is the editor quite fair in limiting his quotation
to the words he has used ? We are sure that he is actuated by motives
of fairness. But in so using the words of the article, he gives the
impression to his readers that the writer thinks their sons to be totally
depraved and base. It is self-evident from the full statement that no
such idea was to be conveyed. It is a misfortune that the editor of
The American Hebrezv has, through lack of deliberation, we think,
misinterpreted the meaning of the words and given an impression
that is misleading.
In making this assertion, that these students for the most part are
moved only by materialistic motives, the writer spoke, not from hear-
say, but from an intimate study and knowledge of these boys. It is
an incontrovertible fact that the flamboyant attractions offered by
specious modern philosophies, which are founded on purely material-
istic bases, are winning over in great numbers the children of orthodox
Jewish parents, causing them to lay aside and forget the ideals of
Judaism. This condition is only a logical result of a pernicious in-
fluence which the Jewish people are now recognizing and combating.
They are beginning to see that the complexities of modem life are
drawing their children from the observance of the Jewish ritual, while
the irreligious training received in the public schools is robbing them
of their faith. In an address before the Jewish Religious School
Teachers' Association, Pittsburgh, Pa., which The American Hebrew
reports in full, Mrs. Abram Simon, pleading for Jewish religious
education, says : " With us to-day the whole problem seems to present
something of the restraints of a new servitude. It is not spontaneous
and joyous We are interested in religious education because
712 WITH OUR READERS [Aug.,
secular education is not sufficient, because knowledge and information
are not character building, because accumulation does not deepen faith,
strengthen the will, and prepare the child for its place in the social
milieu " (page 54, The American Hebrew, May 21, 1915).
This is a clear statement of the effects of irreligious education.
Others have brought this truth home to the hearts of the Jewish
people till now they realize, when the effects are so marked, that
no sublime ideals can be inculcated or cherished in a system of educa-
tion that is pagan and materialistic in its principles and practice. That
the havoc has been wrought, and is being wrought, among the younger
generation of Jews, is a fact that is contemplated and deplored by
every serious-minded Hebrew. At the laying of the corner-stone of the
Yorkville Institute (I quote the report of The American Hebrezi'),
Professor Mordecai M. Kaplan, of the Jewish Theological Seminary,
declared that it has never been so hard to lead a Jewish life as it is
to-day. He continued : " We must give the Jew new power to face the
problems and complexities he has to face. We are facing the greatest
crisis in Jewish history. The Jew has been aroused in safeguarding
the young of the race to hand down our cherished traditions, and it is
our duty to transmit enlightenment to our children" (page 57, The
American Hebrew, May 21, 191 5).
Is the truth spoken by a Jew different when uttered by a Christian ?
The editor of The American Hebrew accuses the writer of unfairness,
and even untruth, for stating that the influence of Judaism on the
younger generation has weakened, and has left the Jewish boy in the
formative age receptive of materialistic' conceptions of conduct. Yet
the preceding quotations which have been taken from the very paper
in which he complains, prove that the Jew realizes that all is not well
in Israel. A close study of the boy of Yiddish-speaking parents,
shows that oftentimes in his ambition to advance in wealth and position,
he lays aside the faith and ritual of his fathers. The rabbis know this
and ire fighting against it. The parents know this, and are trying to
combat it. By having their boys attend Hebrew school every Saturday,
and by every other possible means, they are endeavoring to counteract
the influences which are taking their boys away from Judaism, and
leaving them with no guidance except the dictates of exigency or
worldly respect.
This is a sad fact, but what is sadder still and more alarming
is that this type of boy, when he gives up Judaism, makes himself
amenable to no religious influence whatever, but in the majority of
instances becomes the advocate of ultra-socialistic doctrines. The
editor of The American Hebrew, in commenting on a statement that
embodied this, replies that it is not a crime to be a Socialist. We
agree with him heartily. We never held or implied that it was. But
^
I9IS] fVITH OUR READERS 713
we do hold, as every clear-visioned person must hold, that of the
forces exerting an influence in modem life to-day, Socialism is the
most pernicious, and must be combated with unremitting vigor if we
are to preserve the ideals that make life worth living. Were Socialism
merely a scheme to adjust conditions among the poor, to aid in further-
ing the brotherhood of nian or to relieve the distressed, there would
be less cause for opposing it. But such is not the case. Socialism is
not merely economic in its purpose. Under the guise of pleading the
cause of the oppressed, it aims to destroy the rights of the individus^l.
Under the cloak of the equality of man, it works for the downfall
of religion, the destruction of the home, the subversion of law, and
the ruin of the whole social fabric. Where Socialism is at work,
there, we can be sure, is danger to the sacred principles that safeguard
our social existence.
When this is comprehended, and the study of Socialism intensifies
this conclusion, no man who loves his religion, his home and his
state can remain idle and watch supinely the growth of any such
insidious power that would bring about his destruction as a social
entity. These are the reasons why the Catholic Church opposes the
encroachment of Socialism. She is keenly sensitive to the threatening
danger.
The American Hebrew has no quarrel with the writer. In no way
has the writer " indicted these students of the crime of Judaism."
It is rather because they have lost, or are losing, their Judaism. He
makes no complaint because they are Jews, nor would he arouse race
prejudice. He does see a danger in later years from the influence
of these boys, not because they are Jews, but because they are becoming
in vast numbers the protagonists of a system that can never be
tolerated so long as man would desire to cling to the traditions of
his fathers. No matter who they be, Jew or Gentile, the true Catholic
can expect little from those who would further a scheme which aims
to subvert religion, law and state. And by the same token, he is
bound to oppose this influence and those who would advance it.
It is a matter of regret that, in discussing this question, the editor
of The American Hebrew does not rise above the level of the prejudiced
controversialist. Beclouding the issue, he writes : " Catholics have
consistently kept aloof from educational establishments, the teaching
of which they cannot control in their own direction, and the separation
of Church and state in America so far leads to certain difficulties
in Catholics utilizing American educational institutions. But the prin-
ciple is so ingrained in American life that one is surprised to find an
American, even though he is a Catholic, complaining so bitterly
about it."
Perhaps at some time in the far distant future, when the days
714 tVITH OUR READERS [Aug.,
shall be filled with joy and the nights with gladness, when the hills
shall come down to the seas and the streams shall grow dry with dust,
perhaps when the deserts shall bloom and the valleys shall be filled,
perhaps then there will be a discussion on some subject wherein the
Catholic will not have to hear the old cry about the ** separation of
Church and state." Perhaps then he will speak on some question
without having to hear that the Catholic Church is endeavoring to carry-
away the White House, steal the National Treasury, and run off with
the machinery of government. Perhaps such a blissful time will come,
but, like the millennium, it is only a vague possibility; for misunder-
standing is more lasting than the hills and prejudice more abiding.
The charge that " Catholics have consistently kept aloof from
educational establishments, the teaching of which they cannot control
in their own direction," has no justification in fact or reason. The
Catholic Church has not kept aloof from educational institutions be-
cause she cannot control the teaching in her own direction. When
the Catholic Church took the stand she has taken in matters of educa-
tion, she did so for reasons that are noble and irreproachable. Long
ago the Catholic Church realized that the education which fits the child
merely for material life is tmworthy and pernicious. Rather than see
her children exposed to this danger, growing up impervious to the
higher dictates of religion, she has recognized no sacrifice too great, no
cost too large in providing a true education for them. Rather than see
them leading lives that are not governed by definite religious principles,
she supports five thousand four hundred and eighty-eight schools,
besides paying her full share in taxes for public education.
The Catholic Church makes this enormous sacrifice because she
fears the danger from irreligious education. The editor of The Amer-
ican Hebrew, we are sure, also recognizes that danger. Many Jews,
such as Mrs. Abram Simon, Samuel I. Hyman, and Professor Kaplan
are crying out in unison against the evils which threaten the Jew
and his faith because of the lack of religion in education, and striving
to remedy them.
The editor of The American Hebrew fails further to understand
the purpose of A Serious Problem, " It is to be regretted," he writes,
" that Mr. McKee cries even before he is hurt, if he regards the fair
competition of Jewish lads as 'A Serious Problem.* " The writer has
not the slightest fear for Catholic students in fair competition with
Jewish lads or with any other pupils. Catholic children have shown
at all times the highest degree of scholarship, and whenever they have
matched their training against the ability of others, they have always
been eminently successful. Catholic boys have repeatedly carried off
the honors in the national contests for oratory, and only recently
parochial school children took first and third places in a spelling match
1915] WITH OUR READERS 715
that was participated in by competitors from all the Brooklyn schools,
public and private. These are but isolated examples, yet they show
conclusively that the Catholic fears no fair competition. What the
Catholic does fear is not the competition of Jewish boys, but the after-
influence of Jewish boys who soon lose sight of the ideals of their
religion, and become adherents of materialistic principles that are
dangerous and antagonistic to the cherished ideals of life.
The purpose of A Serious Problem was to rouse Catholics to the
realization that life to-day makes many more demands upon their
children than it did upon the children of a generation ago, and con-
sequently calls for higher training and finer equi{»nent. That the article
and its purpose have been misunderstood is a source of r^^et. But
if the editor of The American Hebrew thinks deeply over the facts
that have been presented he will see that A Serious Problem, while
essentially a Catholic question, is in some phases his problem also.
Perhaps then, too, he will come to the realization that in the writer
he has not found one who " indicts Judaism," but one who is using
his energies to combat the pernicious influences of Socialism and other
materialistic philosophies — influences against which the Jew, if he is
to preserve the faith of Israel, must ultimately take his place with
the Catholic who already is in the trenches.
THE whole burden of Dr. Shanahan's articles on Progress was to
show that while human progress is a fact, it is not an inevitable
law of human history. " Progress," wrote Dr. Shanahan, " does in-
deed, nay, must by its very nature add to the past, and perfect it;
we are not questioning the fact of growth by addition, we are simply
denying the theory that this growth is a thing unfailing." And again,
" Look where you may in history, nothing even remotely suggestive
of an unchecked universal tendency toward perfection will cross your
line of vision." ** Humanity is deserving of separate and distinct
consideration as being amenable to laws, peculiarly its own, which
mark it off from the rest of Nature — that 'diapason ending full in
man.' "
In spite of these statements, printed in cold type, we have received
the subjoined article, which represents Dr. Shanahan as saying just
exactly the opposite of what he did say. The writer is a counselor-
at-law. We publish it as an illustration of how an intelligent man can
misread not only Dr. Shanahan, but also history, both past and present.
His insight into the mind of the Holy Father is as discerning and
accurate as his understanding of the articles on Progress in The
Catholic World.
7i6 WITH OUR READERS [Aug.,
PROGRESS.
BY W. P. FENNELL.
A friend handed me a copy of the last issue of The Catholic World.
I was charmed with the scholarly article on Progress, by Mr. Shanahan, S.T.D.
Like a property man in a theatre, he sets his stage furniture to advantage,
and then brings on the dramatis personce. He introduces some charming Greek
ladies, with whom most of us have scarcely even a speaking acquaintance. One
of them, the leading lady, in a learned discourse, informs us that there is such
a thing as retrogression as well as progression.
But why spend so much learning on so self-evident a proposition, and miss
the point in the end? When one speaks of progress he should first, in his own
mind at least, settle what or whom he means to progress. Granting that all
human souls, as infused into the foetus are alike, we must admit the possibility
of individual enlightenment by grace, inspiration or cultivation from Adam to
the new-bom infant. In theology, let us admit that St Augustine and Thomas
Aquinas are not moderns; in philosophy, that Aristotle and Plato were not
educated at Vassar; in art that Raphael and Michael Angelo did not produce
the Katzenjamer Kids: does it really follow that religion, philosophy and art
have made no progress since the days of the old Masters?
If religion, considered objectively, has made no progress since St. Peter
preached on the street comers in Rome, we might as well give it up as a failure.
If Christian philosophy has fumished no lamp to shed a ray of light on the
gropings after tmth of the pagan philosophers, in what respect is it better?
If the productions of art have not been multiplied and exhibited to more people,
for what purpose were they created? for themselves?
This points out Mr. Shanahan's mistake. He speaks of progress subjectively,
as if it was something in itself, whereas it is nothing. You might as well
speak of growth in the abstract, as of progress. Religion, philosophy and art
are nothing abstracted from those whose lives or destinies they are supposed
to influence. Taking the human race as a whole, has there been no progress
since Adam and Eve fled from the Garden of Eden clothed in fig leaves?
Is there no difference between an ox cart and an automobile? Is wireless
telegraphy no improvement on the Royal Mail Stage Coach?
The only point Mr. Shanahan scores is that democracy is not a modem
discovery; but he overlooked the fact that it was the Church, following the
Roman Empire, that squelched it, and that it did not revive until the French
Revolution. The war in Europe to-day is a war to the death between Imperial-
ism and Democracy. On which side is the Church? Is she progressive?
In my opinion, if the German Kaiser would propose to the Pope that in
exchange for his moral influence he, if victorious in this war, would reestablish
the Catholic religion as the State Church in the German Empire and restore the
temporal power of the Pope, the Pope would enter into such an alliance.
Or, on the other hand, if France and Italy would say to the Pope that they
were ready to do penance for their sins of apostasy and return to the Church
if the Church would throw its influence on their side, I believe the Pope would
do it. In other words, he would do what he believed to be for the best interests
of the Churcli, whether it advanced Imperialism or Democracy. Is that progress?
However interesting the subject may he, the unfortunate object is Man.
Are we going to lose all that Democracy has fought for since the French
Revolution and bow down to Caesar, or not? Would you call that progress?
1915.I IVITH OUR READERS 717
THE CATHOLIC READING CIRCLE.
BY JOHN KEITH.
A SHORT time ago I came upon a most interesting article in one
of the back numbers of The Catholic World, entitled A Plea
for Reading Circles, in which the writer deplores the passing of the
Catholic Reading Circles which flourished some years ago in this
country, and which, for some unexplained cause, have seemingly passed
into a state of innocuous desuetude. The writer in question pleads most
eloquently for a revival of the old-time interest in Reading Circles,
and sets forth at length both the reasons and the necessity for a renewal
of the former activities in this direction.
And it is a plea which ought not to go unheeded. That the Catho-
lic Reading Circle, in its day, was a most potent factor among the laity
cannot be gainsaid. The old spirit of bigotry is again abroad, and
time-honored ghosts are once more being paraded before a gullible
public by misdirected anti-Catholic zealots ; above the tumult, the clear,
calm voices of the leaders in the Church may be heard, urging upon
the laity the need to equip themselves with a fuller knowledge and
better understanding of things Catholic. May we not look to Catho-
lic Reading Circles to play an important part in bringing about this
desired result? Indeed, no more eflFective means could be adopted
to bring home to the Catholic laity the knowledge and intelligence
which the times demand of them. Qergy and laity alike recognize
the urgent need of some intelligent and systematic effort along these
lines, and in view of these conditions it would seem that the Catholic
Reading Circle should again come into its own, and take its place in the
forefront of Catholic intellectual activities.
We are being vilified, abused and insulted daily. Through the
press, from the pulpit and the lecture-platform, still more from the
undignified soap-box, irresponsible and unscrupulous calumniators
pour forth vials of filth and abuse against things Catholic. We have
been patient and forbearing under most galling circumstances; and
we must continue to be patient, but let us not be apathetic lest our
inactivity and silence be construed against us. Let us arouse ourselves
from our lethargy and become active, under this galling fire, let us
qualify as an intelligent laity, let us organize as able defenders of
our cause, and thus lend to the clergy and to the Catholic press the
support which is their due.
Our assailants are organized. They are carrying on a systematic
and carefully-planned campaign of vilification. It is not the scattered,
promiscuous gun-fire of a few individuals working independently of
each other, but the concentrated and persistent firing of an organized
7i8 WITH OUR READERS [Avig^
and well-financed body, and for the success of their campaign they are
relying, as they must rely, upon ignorance and prejudice and our own
indifference.
The remedy, an effective antidote for all this bigotry and calumny
— so say venerable churchmen who have weathered more than one such
storm — is intelligence concerning our Church, her teachings and her
history. The Church has an answer for every question which may be
propounded, an explanation for every doctrine she teaches. What,
then, is there for us to do ? Simply and earnestly to inform ourselves,
that we may give the necessary answers and explanations when con-
fronted by the honest inquirer whose curiosity has become aroused by
the ceaseless activity of abuse. And this most beneficent result may
be accomplished through the medium of the Catholic Reading Circle.
Were we to see a flourishing Reading Circle in each city and town
throughout the land, intelligently directed and affiliated wiA some
central organization, I venture to say that the ghost of bigotry would
be speedily laid at rest again, for it would be a reflection upon the
intelligence of our fair-minded non-Catholic fellow-citizens (and,
thank God, the great and overwhelming majority of them answer to
that description) to suppose that calumniators, whose only weapons
are lies and filth, will continue to find an audience once the facts have
been placed at their disposal.
And how can the truth be more quickly and effectively brought
home to them than through the instrumentality of the intelligoit
Catholic layman, with whom they come in daily contact in business
and social circles? The non-Catholic seldom, if ever, comes within
range of the Catholic sermon, and he seldom, if ever, reads the Catholic
book or periodical, so that he is almost wholly dependent upon the
Catholic layman for information and instruction concerning the matters
at issue. But he gets the other side. The vilifiers take good care
that he does. Their vile sheets come to him through the mail; they
are left at his door, handed to him in public conveyances, and otherwise
forced upon his attention ; and glaring announcements of *' no Popery "
lectures, and sensational headlines, promising something exciting and
out of the ordinary, lure him occasionally to the lecture hall or within
range of the soap-box, from whence issue broadsides of filth and abuse.
There the Stars and Stripes are fluttered before him, and Rome is
declared to be the enemy of the Flag; the Pope, he is told, is about
to strike a deathblow to American Freedom and the Republic is
imperilled; the millions of seemingly peaceful and patriotic Catholic
citizens are but wolves in sheep's clothing, playing a part in a
most diabolical conspiracy to overthrow the government. And our
non-Catholic perhaps goes home wondering if, after all, there is not
some truth in these wild assertions, and, by and by, he may come to sec
ipiSl tyiTH OUR READERS 719
in his peaceful Catholic neighbor a menace to American institutions,
forgetful that the blood of Catholics helped to make the nation free,
and that Catholics have always been among the first to respond
whenever the nation's sons have been called to the colors.
It is then for us, the Catholic laity, to rouse ourselves from our
attitude of indifference, and to respond readily and heartily to the call
which has come to us above the tiunult; and it is little indeed that
our leaders ask of us. Would we brook the charge that we are not
loyal sons of the Church ? Are we then prepared to state to the ques-
tioner the reasons why we are loyal to the Church ? Are we familiar
with the doctrines which the Church teaches, with her history and her
attitude generally? Are we prepared to refute calumnies, to explain
matters concerning our Faith which may be called in question ? Scarcely
any of us are thus qualified. We must acknowledge our deficiencies
in these respects. We are convinced that the position of the Church
is unassailable, but have we the facts and the arguments ready at hand
when we need them? Are they immediately available to us? Do we
even know where to find them? Or must we refer the inquirer to
our clergy, with regard to whom he maintains a respectful distance?
We need not be theologians, nor highly-skilled logicians, but we do
need to be solidly educated in at least the fundamentals of Catholic
knowledge, and alive to the arguments in behalf of the religion we
profess, if we would escape the charge of ignorance and hope to combat
the influences which are at work against us.
All this may largely be accomplished by means of the Reading
Circle, properly directed and with a few earnest workers as a nucleus.
Its real function will consist not so much in placing before those who
attend its sessions the knowledge which they seek, as in directing them
to, and making them familiar with, the sources from whence that
knowledge may be derived, and developing in them the habit of study
and research.
A gulden harvest awaits those who will undertake this work sin-
cerely and earnestly. The harvest is great, but the reapers have indeed
been few. Let us, then, become active and turn to account the God-
given opportunities which daily knock at our doors.
BOOKS RECEIVED.
Benziger Brothers, New York:
Sister Gertrude Mary. Translated from the French by a Nun of St. Bride's
Abbey. 90 cents. Littie Manual of St. Rita, By T. S. McGrath. 50 cents.
Compendium Sacra Liturgia, Scripset P. Innocentius Wapelhorst» O.F.M.
$2.50 net. Little Communicants' Prayer Book. By Rev. P. J. Sloan. 20 cents.
Longmans, Green & Co., New York:
Reflections of a Non-Combatant. By M. D. Petre. 75 cents net.
The Devin-Adair Co., New York:
Abused Russia. By C. C. Young, M.D. $1.35.
The America Press, New York:
The Church and the Sex Problem. The War's Lesson. Pamphlets. $ cents.
FoRDHAM University Press, New York:
The Popes and Science. By James J. Walsh, LL.D. $2.00 net.
Oxford University Press, New York:
Some Love Songs of Petrarch. By William D. Foulke, LL.D. $1.15.
The Plimpton Press, Norwood, Mass. :
Life of Sister Rosalie. By Hon. J. D. Fallon, LL.D.
Rev. Director Holy Childhood Association, Pittsburgh, Pa.:
The Children. By Rev. Joseph Husslein, S.J. Pamphlet $ cents.
B. Herder, St. Louis:
Phonetic Method of Hearing Confessions of the Slavic Peoples in Cases of
Emergency. 20 cents net. Prayers of the Gael. By R. MacCr6caigh. 45
cents net. The Venerable John Ogilvie, SJ. By D. Conway. 30 cents net.
The Epistles of St. Paul to the Corinthians. By Rev. J. MacRory. $2.75 net.
Loyola University Press, Chicago, 111.:
Shall I Be a Daily Communicant f By Rev. F. Cassilly, S.J. 30 cents.
The Australian Catholic Truth Society, Melbourne:
Children's Early and Frequent Communion. By Rev. J. Husslein, S.J. Pamph-
let. 5 cents.
P. Lethiellbux, Paris:
Histoire Anecdotique de La Guerre de 1914-1915. Par Franc-Nohain et Paul
Delay. Fascicule 5. 0.60.
A. Tralin, Paris :
Solution du Grand Problime. Par A. Delloue. 2 frs.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD,
Vol. CI. SEPTEMBER, 191 5. No. 606.
IV AH MESTROVIC, THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR.
BY THOMAS J. GERRARD.
[HERE has lately appeared on the horizon of the art
\\i)rld a new star of the first mag^nitude. It is Ivan
Mestrovic, the Serbian sculptor. For the past gen-
eration the realm of sculpture has been dominated by
M Auguste Rodin. But now there comes upon the
scene a young Serbo-Croat, the son of a Dalmatian peasant, a rising
genius of whose work M. Rodin has said : " C'etait mon reve/*
The range of M. Mestrovic was revealed some four years ago
at the international -exhibition in Rome. Now an even more
representative collection is being introduced to a still wider public
at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. As yet, no one has
ventured to question the genius of the artist. Critics, professors,
students, artists, and probably everybody else agree that the art is
great and fascinating. But as to whether the genius has been
legitimately applied, there is the fiercest conflict of opinion. The
eminent critic, Sir Claude Phillips, declares that this is one of
the most important manifestations of modern art that Europe has
in these later years been called upon to face and to judge. Pro-
fessor Selwyn Image, the Slade Professor of Art at the University
of Oxford, maintains, on the other hand, that it is willful, inchoate,
amorphous, and even monstrous. The following study is an attempt
to describe the character of the work, and to appreciate the situation
which it has created.
Copyright. 1915. The Missionary Society of St. Paul the Apostle
IN the State of New York.
VOL. 0.-46
722 THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR [Sept.,
The first condition of a right understanding of the art of
Mestrovic is a knowledge of his nationality and the circumstances
of his early life. The history and the fortunes of the Serbian race
are the chief source of his inspiration. He is above all things a
patriot and a prophet, and he has given almost the whole of his
artistic life and accomplishments to the furtherance of his nation's
aspirations. Consequently his work is informed through and
through with this one ruling spirit.
His parents were natives of Dalmatia and lived at Otavice, a
small village near Drnis, where they kept a mountain farm. But
every year they used to spend some time in Croatia- Slavonia ; and
it was at Urpolje in this province, in the year 1883, that the future
artist was born. His early years were spent as a shepherd boy on
his father's farm. During the long lonely days whilst tending the
sheep on the hills, he began to dream and to carve. Some of his
early essays, rude images in wood and stone, which he gave to his
friends, are now carefully preserved in the museum at Knin. He
dreamed of the past glories of the Serbian race. He was assiduous
in reading the Serb-Croat ballads — indeed they were his only
reading — and in collecting them from oral tradition. These were
the means by which the legends of the race came to him.
Another source of his inspiration was the ancient Slavonic
liturgy. He was a Catholic, and was thus in direct touch with
the distant past. This largely accounts for the distinct archaic
characteristic which is so evident in his work. Nationality is his
first motive. But fulfilling his nationality is the deeper motive
of Catholic Christianity.
By the time he had arrived at the age of eighteen, his natural
talent had so developed as to call for more special attention. His
father then sent him to Spalato as apprentice to a marble worker.
From Spalato, by the aid of a bursary from the town council, he
passed to Vienna, where he entered upon a full course of study
at the Academy of Arts. This gave him every facility for gaining
a complete knowledge of technique. But it did something more.
It brought him under the influence of Vart nouveau, which was in
the height of its fashion during the period of Mestrovic's student
days. The young student in fact became a keen enthusiast for the
Sezession. From his second year at Vienna, down to the present
day, he has always sent something to its annual exhibition.
After Vienna he went to Paris. -Here he stayed three years,
1907 to 1 910, exhibiting each year at the Fall Salon. As a matter
1915] THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR 7^3
of course he was attracted to M. Rodin. The two sculptors soon
became friends. Rodin gave to Mestrovic an unstinted admiration
and the warmest encouragement, whilst Mestrovic on his part showed
himself an ardent disciple. Yet amidst all the powerful impressions
which Mestrovic received from his Viennese and Parisian expe-
riences, he maintained his simple personality and Slav character
paramount.
The rising sculptor was now sufficiently important to venture
on an exhibition of his own collected works. This took place at
the Sezession in Vienna. Afterwards, in a joint exhibition with
the Croat painter Racki, he showed his work to his own countrymen
at Agram. In 191 1 he gathered round him a number of Serbian
associates and pupils and, with their help, made up the famous
collection for the Serbian Pavilion at the International Exhibition
in Rome. He called it a collection of fragments, the completion of
which would be a sort of Slav Parthenon or Valhalla. Serbia had
always taken a leading part in the Southern Slav movement, con-
sisting as it does of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes. Hence it came
about that Mestrovic, a Croat from Dalmatia, identified himself
so wholeheartedly with Serbia.
In order to give his work unity and solidarity, and thus gfive
unity and solidarity to the Slav movement, the artist took for his
central conception a huge temple. He was going to utter the praise
of fallen heroes and mourning women, and he chose for their
setting a national temple, which he still hopes will some day be
built on the plain of Kosovo. This is the name of the battlefield
where, in the year 1389, the Serbs were defeated by the Turks.
Mestrovic describes his conception thus :
As my first master was a blind beggar, it was only natural for
me to follow the school indicated by him. And, whatever dif-
ference there may be in our method of expression, the aim that
informs our songs is identical: to sing of suffering so that
others may bear their suflFerings with more strength. My con-
ception of the Temple of Kosovo originates thus in the Serbian
and Jugoslav national songs which express the destiny, the
desires, the hopes, the poetry of Slav mysticism, the resistance
to oppression, and the ardent aspiration towards justice and
human liberty The primitive accent and the largeness of
conception of our national songs, and their innate spirit of com-
bativeness, were so familiar to me that it seemed feasible to
me to express them in stone as well. I cannot conceal that I
724 THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR [Sept.,
conceived the ambition to try to place upon a strictly national
basis our Jugoslav art, which lacks a special and characteristic
tradition. And therefore the national song, emanating from
the people without any foreign influence, imposed itself upon
me as a model.
With such an aim Mestrovic's art must needs either plumb the
depths of human sorrow and tragedy, or fail completely. As
regards his chief aim he has most surely not failed, for he has
compelled the attention of the world. Whatever defects he may
have are accidental. They may bring him adverse criticism from
artists, professors, journalists, or the general public. But they
leave his prophetic power unquestigned.
On the twenty-eighth of June, 1389, the success of the Turks
at the battle of Kosovo, the " Field of the Blackbirds," plunged
the Set1>ian empire into a long servitude. Heroes there were, but
they failed to conquer the foe. Greatest amongst them, Milos
Obilic, penetrated the Turkish camp and slew the Sultan Murad.
One indeed maintained a semi-independence in Northern Macedonia,
and, under the name of Marko Kraljevic, is known as the hero of a
hundred exploits. Treachery there was in the person of Vuk
Brankovic. All this is material for the apotheosis of the spirit
of combativeness. But behind the line of battle there is the scene
of mourning women. Widows and mothers, therefore, personify
the centuries of oppression. They lament not only husbands and
sons, but also the crushmg of a young culture, by which the Slav
races were just beginning to feel their way towards an active
communion with Western civilization. Now, after five centuries
of what they believe to be unjust oppression, comes the liberation.
The new Serbia has found its hero in Kara George. The field of
Kosovo was avenged on the field of Kvmianovo. In October, 191 2,
the Serbian army rode victorious into Uskub, its ancient capital, and
thus dawned the day of a brighter future for the Serbian people.
Since, however, the movement pertains to the whole of the Southern
Slav race, and not merely to the Serbians ; and since there remains
so much unredeemed territory, the situation is still regarded as
unsatisfactory. There are well-informed sympathizers who think
that unless Serbia can unite the whole of her kindred races, it were
better that both she and Montenegro should be annexed to the
Austrian Empire.
This last struggle of the Serbian people has coincided with
1915] THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR 7^5
Mestrovic's activities. He has been caught in the movement and
acclaimed a leader. He has responded to the call, and placed his
genius at the service of his country. He gathers up the dead bones
of the past, and breathes a new life into them. Expressing himself
in sculpture, he puts both his work and himself at the disposal of
those who direct his country's fortunes — the diplomats and the
statesmen. His artistic creed is not that of art for art's sake, but
rather art for life's sake, the life of the Southern Slav race. Real-
izing that their life is bound up with that of their more powerful
allies in the European conflict, they wish to be better known and
better understood by them. So they take up Mestrovic and his art
as a concrete expression and embodiment of their culture, and send
him as a messenger to the English peojrfe.
We may grant at once, then, that the admission of this strange
art into the halls of the Victoria and Albert Museum, was not
prompted solely by artistic reasons. The gathering of ambassadors
and diplomats at the opening ceremony indicated a strong political
force behind the artistic endeavor. The expenses of the exhibition
were defrayed by the Southern Slav Committee, an agency which
exists for the promotion of political ideals. There is nothing
wrong, but rather everything right and just, in the association of
national art and national political life. Only we need to remember
the point in our appraisement of the work of the artist. It is
possible that Mestrovic's work is so immature that it would not
have been patronized by Ihe British Government, except in the
present political situation. Nevertheless, it is great enough to
justify the hospitality accorded to it under the circumstances.
It is not a new idea that sculpture should find its setting in
architectural design. The Parthenon and our churches all follow
the principle. But the practice of gathering great works of art
into museums has rather obscured the idea. Mestrovic brings it
forward again and emphasizes it, for the Temple of Kosovo has to
be the setting for his statuary. For the present he is content to
show us a wooden model of the Temple. It is not remarkable for
any particular development of architectural composition, nor yet
for any new or striking beauty. It is meant rather to be impressive
by reason of its vastness, elemental simplicity and rugged forceful-
ness. It takes elements from the Egyptian, Doric, and Byzantine
styles, all, however, brought into a harmonic unity by Mestrovic's
personality. Those of us who have read Paul Claudel's famous
study on The Evolution of the Church, will know what is meant
726 THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR [Sept.,
by the sacramentality of architecture. This principle is most
vividly realized in Mestrovic's Temple. The building speaks directly
to us of the great spiritual truth of the aspirations of the Slav
people, and, as exemplified in them, of the aspirations of humanity.
The Temple of Kosovo may be described as a building in cruci-
form shape, consisting of an octagonal sanctuary, with three chapels
and a long atrium. It is surmounted by four octagonal domes,
which diminish upwards in steps like the pyramids. There is also
a square tower, of five stages, tapering slightly as it rises. It is to
be built in granite or marble. On either side of the main entrance,
and in various parts of the building, are the figures of lions, horses,
and hawks, all symbols of the combative spirit which has filled and
must continue to fill the Slav peoples. Then, as central figure of
the sanctuary, is the Great Sphinx. This was intended to be a
sepulchral monument to one of the Croat poets, Silvije Kranjcevic.
But now the artist wishes to place it in the sanctuary of his Temple
to symbolize the destinies of the Southern Slav race. We must not
grow impatient if these suggestions seem indefinite, for the idea is
poetic, and may be developed according as spiritual values demand.
Important amongst the figures which are to adorn the Temple
are twelve caryatids, the representation of women dressed in long
robes, and serving as columns to support the superstructure. They
stand for twelve types of Serbian womanhood. Their architectural
function of supporting the building is symbolic of their noble suf-
fering in bearing with five centuries of Turkish domination. They
are, however, wholly distinct in style from the ancient caryatids.
They are alive with the modem note of enhanced individuality and
subjectiveness. They are not universal types. They are provincial,
rather, s)rmbolizing, as they do, the various Southern Slav countries,
Serbia, Montenegro, " Old Serbia," Bosnia-Herzegovina, Dalmatia,
Croatia- Slavonia, Istria and Slovenia, and the Voivodina. Nor yet
again are they successful in producing the impression of age-long
patience. The individuality is so delicate, and the suffering so
acute, that the figures seem scarcely able to bear their burden for
an hour. You feel that you want to relieve them. The incon-
gruity arises probably through attempting to express two incom-
patible ideas by one word, the suffering of defeat and the striving
for victory.
More successful is a series of independent groups entitled
" The Widows of Kosovo." They consist of two groups in marble
and four figures in plaster. The ideas which they represent are more
1915] THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR 727
compatible. One of the marble groups may be taken as an example
— two widows, a mother and her daughter. They mourn together
the disaster of the decisive battle, and one tries to console the other.
Here perhaps Mestrovic is at his greatest. It would be hard to
conceive a more powerful description of the depth of woe to which
humanity could fall, or a more noble presentment of the intense
passion of maternity. Here too may be discerned the real value
of Mestrovic's modem tendencies. Ancient art in its endeavor to
attain the ideal type, sought to eliminate individuating differences.
The result was a fine and noble, but cold expression. Mestrovic
maintains in a certain measure the tendency towards an ideal type,
but at the same time accentuates the lines which indicate indi-
viduality enough (sometimes more than enough) to redeem the sub-
ject from the impersonal. He strikes an equipoise. And thus the
saying is justified which declares that he is so thoroughly modern
as to be nearly ancient. In the two " Widows of Kosovo," he is
graceful and yet strong, gentle and yet firm. The traits of indi-
viduality and generality are so nicely balanced that the observer
is impressed by both.
Far different is the colossal torso of Milos Obilic. This is
a challenge flung out to every phase of art which has gone before.
This surely must have had a large share in drawing forth the con-
fession from M. Rodin : " This was my dream ;" for it carries the
argument of Rodin a good step further.
Milos Obilic is the hero who slew the Sultan Murad. In the
Serbian folk-songs he is described as " the most noble and vehement
of heroes." And this is exactly how Mestrovic portrays him. He
makes him the chief personality in his great epic, and characterizes
him with the note of rhythmic violence. You can almost see him
stride along in his strength to throw his enemy and tear him.
Rodin, by copying from a moving model, succeeded, as none before
him, in creating the impression of movement in sculpture. His
" John the Baptist " was his most important attempt therein. But
Mestrovic creates the impression of dynamic fury. The erect but
twisted body of Milos Obilic is a perfect torrent of energy, yet
withal controlled and directed to its one aim of crushing the enemy.
But, alas ! Mestrovic, in his following of Rodin, has adopted
his principle of trying to get effect by leaving the statue unfinished.
Milos Obilic is a hero with his arms cut off above the elbows and his
legs cut off below the knees. The purpose of this principle is to
produce the impression of mystery. We see the unfinished figure,
728 THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR [Sept.,
and we are left wondering as to what the finished one would be like.
And as the range of our imagination is practically unlimited, the
eflFort to complete the figure produces a sensation of infinity. But
this is not mysticism. A real mystery is a truth which is partly
concealed and partly revealed; and the revealed part is a symbol of
the concealed part. Not so, however, with the torso. The trunk
of the body is not a symbol of the missing arms and legs. Attempts
have been made to complete the torso of the Venus of Milo, with
the result that there are as many diflferent completions as there are
artists. It is purely a matter of guess-work, and the range of the
guessing is infinite. To make a torso with the purpose of causing^
a void in the imagination, is to act exactly as Mr. Sam Weller did
with his love-letter: " My dear Mary, I will now conclude." And
when his father asked him if that wasn't rather a sudden pull up,
he replied that it was not. It would make the lady wish there
was more, and that was the great art of letter- writing. So the
making of torsos for the purpose of producing an artistic effect by-
reason of their incompleteness, must be written down as a trick.
We might be tempted to say that it was an evasion of one of the
chief problems of sculpture, except that both Mestrovic and Rodin
have proved in their complete statues that they do know how to
meet the problem of the composition of arms and legs. No, it
is not a sign of incompetence or limited ability. It is merely the
modern mistake as to the nature of true mysticism. Mysticism is
not that which merely mystifies you. It is that which, through the
symbolism of the world of sense, leads you on to a knowledge of
the unseen world of the spirit.
On these grounds, too, we must take exception to another mag-
nificent piece of work, described as the torso of a hero, a definite
and particular hero, moreover, the famous Strahinic Ban. He is
said to have been renowned for his manly beauty ; and yet the artist
is content with a presentation only of the breast and belly. There
is nothing whatever to indicate the quality of a hero. Heroism is
a moral quality which in so far as it reveals itself through physi-
ology, does so chiefly through the expression of the face. But here
the face is quite absent. The torso is finely modeled, and the rhyth-
mic rise and fall of the muscles might very appropriately be descrit)ed
as a symphony of light and shade, a mere study in preparation for
the making of a hero. But the torso, as it is, might just as well
stand for an acrobat or a prize fighter. When Rodin carved a
splendid pugilist and called him " Le Penseur/' he gave us an
I
.*^
1915] THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR 729
opportunity of judging what he considered to be a thinker. Mes-
trovic evades this responsibihty.
Some of the pieces are professedly fragments intended to be
completed in due time. These we can judge for what they are and
as far as they go. Thus there are three typical heads which meet
the question evaded by the torsos. They show the modern method
of dealing with character.
First, there is the " Colossal Head of Milos/' a design in plaster
for a huge statue to be placed in the central hall of the Temple of
Kosovo. Then there is a gigantic head entitled ** Serge, the Frown-
ing Hero." He is taken from a Serb ballad where he is described as
This angry hero of the frown
Who spits six Turks upon his lance
And flings them backward o'er his head
Across the river Sitnica,
Six at a stroke and six again.
And there is a study of the head of " Marko Kraljevic." He
obtained a foremost place in Serb legend and poetry by reason of the
fact that he kept up an opposition to Turkish rule, in a small and
independent state, after the battle of Kosovo. He is taken to be
the very embodiment of the national spirit of the Serb.
When the average visitor sees these pieces his invariable remark
is, " How brutal! " or " How ugly! " The professional critic who
is in a manner pledged in favor of modem art, would describe them
as half-barbaric and half-classic, or passionate in feeling and bold in
design and execution. The " Serge " with his frown would be a
tremendous concentration of ferocity and bitterness. But which-
ever way the critic places his words, there is always underlying them
the admission that the figure has that quality which is popularly
understood as ugliness. Mestrovic has followed the fashion set up
by Rodin and the Sezession, the cult of the ugly.
Rodin has made a long apology for this. He claims that
everything in nature is beautiful for the artist. He despises the
opinion of the vulgar crowd. The crowd will call ugly that which
is difformed, that which is sickly, that which suggests the idea of
weakness and suffering, that which is contrary to regularity, the sign
and condition of health and strength. According to them a hunch-
back or a bandy-leg is ugly. But a great artist transfigures these
uglinesses. With the stroke of his magic wand he transforms them
all into beauty. There is a half-truth in this apology. The great
730 THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR [Sept.,
artist or the great writer can certainly put noble character into his
figures. He can portray patience, beautiful patience, in the visage
of a hunchback. He can depict love, beautiful love, in the counte-
nance of a bandy-leg. But it is the patience and the love which are
beautiful, not the curved spine and crooked leg.
So is it with Mestrovic's statuary. His heroes are beautiful
as regards their psychic values. They do express a colossal psychic
force, the force of anger in a just cause, the force of will to conquer
the oppressor. But as regards their material or rather physical
values, they are ugly, inexpressibly ugly. Of course it so happens
that Mestrovic is narrating a sad history; and we might have
excused the ugliness on the grounds that there are so many ugly
incidents in that history. But we know that he has been brought up
under the Sezession and Rodin, and so we feel that he has fallen
into a deplorable fashion. The portrayal of physical ugliness does
come within the sphere of legitimate art. We do not want to see
life held up as something all pretty and sweet. But neither do we
want it shown as all ugly and miserable. It is the direct cult of the
ugly against which we protest. If it is the function of art to
portray life, it is also its function to minister to life. And the
life which we want is the healthy and beautiful, not the morbid and
ugly. If the morbid and ugly must come in, in order to bring about
the healthy and the beautiful, then we prefer it to be done as quickly
and sparingly as possible. Nor do we want to be humbugged by
the extremists who talk of " the beauty of ugliness."
There is indeed plenty of room in art for the artist who
wishes to excel in individuality and personality. There is, for
instance, the whole sphere of portraiture. And here Mestrovic
does avail himself of the advantage and privilege of the modem
sculptor over the ancient. Whilst not for a moment departing from
his archaic principles, simplicity of line and directness of expression,
he introduces into his portraits a strong emphasis on the individ-
uating notes. If you want to make a universal type, it is the
individuating notes which you must tone down or eliminate. Mes-
trovic seems to have discovered an equipoise. Whilst following the
broad lines of generalization, he manages to accentuate them so as
to suggest the personal traits required. Thus he gives a portrait in
bronze of Leonardo Bistolfi, the famous Italian sculptor. It is
first and foremost the picture of a human being whom you might
expect to meet at dinner somewhere in Italy. And yet it might
stand as a general type of the thinker and poet. If it were called
IQIS] THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR 731
" Le Penseur," the title would fit it more appropriately than it
does the well-known statue of Rodin.
Of fascinating interest is Mestrovic's portrait of the great
Rodin himself. There is the full personality of the man whom
students have been proud to shake hands with and loved to applaud.
Yet is he eternalized. With a grim satirical smile he sits leaning
on his elbows like a figure of Buddha, immovable for ever and ever.
In the portrait of the artist's mother we have the universality
of tenderness and charm individualized in a Croatian peasant
woman. The same note occurs, as it were, an octave higher, in the
" Portrait of a Lady." Where the artist failed in his caryatids, he
succeeds in his portraits. Being essentially modem, he is unable to
get away from the individual. In portraiture there is no need to.
Hence being in his own proper sphere, he is able to work in his
psychic values without appearing to make the effort. These por-
traits do express the nobility of woman in bearing a weight of
suffering.
The portrait of the artist's wife shows us whither he has gone
for his model. She is the type of nearly all his women. But here
he was simply making a portrait without too much prepossession
concerning the fortunes of Serbia and the human race. And the
effect is a feeling of relief, a little respite from the painful patience
of the heroic women and the tearing fury of the heroic men.
An artist so deeply imbued with the sacramental principle, as
Mestrovic was, would naturally, sooner or later, turn his attention
to directly religious subjects. And here he meets us with the
most amazing proposals. There are three reliefs in plaster, not
casts, but direct carvings : " Christ and the Woman of Samaria,"
" The Annunciation," and " The Virgin and Child with St. John."
It is the " Annunciation " which rivets our attention. Our Lady
is figured as a simple girl, sitting upright, asleep on a chair. But
the angel, which is of Syrian origin, is one the like of whom was
never, never seen before. Having the body of an eagle and the
face of a man, he points upwards with one hand, whilst the other
he holds to his face as if concentrating the force of his message to
Our Lady. It is as if he were compressing the energy of a tre-
mendous shout into a small whisper. It rudely distiu-bs all our
former notions of what the Annunciation may have been like.
Yet, however alien it may be to our habits of thought and feeling,
it does give the impression, vividly and impressively, that the angel
is announcing some stupendous truth. The sweetness that we are
732 THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR [Sq)t.,
accustomed to look for in a devotional picture is here quite absent.
Instead we have impressiveness. The shock makes us reflect and
ask ourselves what was the message of Gabriel.
The artist is less disturbing in his " Pieta," a relief in bronze.
But here he has not plunged about in his own originality. The
influence of Donatello is strongly marked, but Mestrovic has read
into Donatello some of his own Slav vigor and directness. The
same also must be said of the " Deposition from the Cross." This
is a relief in wood, in which the artist subordinates himself to the
tradition of the past, and yet without entirely sacrificing his own
characteristics. It must be by contributions such as this, whidi
might well do for^ an altar-piece, that Mestrovic will build himself
into the feelings of the multitude.
Right at the other extreme is his " Christ on the Cross." This
is something absolutely independent of all tradition, in fact so
absolutely original as to be eccentric. It is a completely emaciated
figure with the head turned sideways, but erect and in profile. It
is in sympathy with the renewed consdousness of the human aspect
of the Passion. It gathers up the sorrows of Serbia and the sorrows
of humanity, and gives them to the Man of Sorrows. The angui^
is acute. We fed it as we look at the figure. There is no respite.
And that is where it would fail if it vs^re set up in one of our
churches as an object of devotion. There is no equipoise, no
glimmer of the radiance of victory which shall rise on the other side
of the Hill of Calvary. All is present human suffering, nor is
there any hope of its alleviation.
M. Mestrovic, therefore, is not an artist for the people. Nor
yet again is he a master for students in art. Already the students
of the South Kensington schools have been warned against him by
their professors. And rightly so, too, for as yet he is but a pioneer
who is submitting his discoveries to experts. He is an artist for
artists. His individual judgment must impose itself on the col-
lective judgment of the profession before it can be considered
authoritative.
Moreover, we must remember that all art — ^music, sculpture,
painting, dandng, drama, literature — is passing through a state of
transition. The age, too, is lacking in inspiration. Art has been
lying fallow. Mestrovic, however, must be acclaimed above all dse
to be a prophet and a seer. His Catholic mind has shown him that
art is sacramental, that it is the spirit value which counts most, that
flesh values count only in so far as they minister to the spirit. In
1915] THE SERBIAN SCULPTOR 733
this point his genius is sure to produce a profound impression on the
art of the future.
This same principle, too, has shown him how to strike the
due equipoise between the static and the dynamic. It is with pity
that we remember the Futurist attempt to express movement by
repeating several figures and smudging one into the other. But
now, in the heroes of Mestrovic, we have s<rfid everlasting marble so
treated as to express and impress the sensation of violent fury, aU
however held within volitional control. So also, but in less measure,
has the principle helped him towards a due equipoise between the
abstract t)rpe and the concrete individual. As yet, however, he has
a strong bias towards enhanced individualism. And it is precisely
this which accounts for his eccentricities, issuing in a cult of the
ugly and the imperfect. He is as yet, however, a young man,
hardly thirty-three, with a promise of a brilliant future. It seems
almost impossible that, with his breadth of mind and keen percep-
tion, he should not realize the necessity of the individual correcting
his eccentricities by reference to the universal judgment. Then
we may hope that he will become one of the grand masters of the
future art problem, which is to enhance indiviudal life and happiness
in such a way as to harmonize with and enrich universal life and
happiness.
THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE.
BY CHARLES BAUSSAN.
HE war, already known as the Great War, and which
will fully deserve the title in history, were it only for
the terrific number of its soldiers and its slain, burst
like a thunderbolt over sleeping France. For France
not only did not wish war; she did not expect it.
She had closed her ears to every warning. She was not prepared.
Military authorities and diplomats pointed in vain to the gathering
storm in the east. The government and the people would not see ;
they believed obstinately and blindly in peace.
Only a few weeks before war was declared, the government,
aroused at last, but too late, to the impending danger, succeeded in
having the Chamber of Deputies revive the three years' military
service. Yet even after the vote was taken, the measure was dis-
cussed and attacked as useless and injurious to the economic de-
velopment of the country: so surely did war seem a chimera, an
incredible thing! Up to the very last minute, one may say until
the first shot was fired, the French were confident of peace. Con-
sequently when Germany, after invading Belgium, threw herself
suddenly upon France, the shock was terrible. Feeling in-
tensified when the French army failed to arrest the invasion
at the frontier, and the formidable and apparently irresistible
tide surged on towards Paris. The force of the blow, the
presence of a peril sudden, pressing, unavoidable, permitting neither
hesitation nor delay, facing an issue upon which hung the life or
death of a nation, produced a reaction as instantaneous as its cause,
a reaction that shook to its depths the soul of the French. All the
forces of the race awoke and lived again, among them that Catholic
Faith which for centuries upon centuries had impregnated the soul
of the people, from which, in spite of appearances, it had never
been eradicated.
Perhaps, had the danger been passing, the feeling might have
been passing also. But the crisis was not of a day; it continued, it
still exists. The victory of the Marne definitely arrested the
progress of the invader; the troops constantly reen forced and
relieved, more and more inured to service and better equipped,
1915] THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE 735
remain an impenetrable defence. Nevertheless the Germans still
occupy nine departments, and are still within sixty miles of Paris.
What deadly struggles, what untold anguish the French have still
to face! But struggles and anguish are the strongest bonds of
union, the most forceful exhortations to perseverance.
If the great moral upheaval of such a war has been the deter-
mining cause of an incontestable evolution in the religious spirit
of France, how did the change come about and what is its signif-
icance? Upon what sort of material did the powerful blow of
misfortune strike, and what has it made of it? From the religious
point of view, what were the Frenchman's opinions before the war;
what are they now? God Who creates life can restore life; if He
wills. He can raise the dead ; His power. His mercy are boundless.
He created the sun, He illumines the darkness with faith. More-
over, it frequently is not the least of His miracles, nor of His
mercies, that He does not extinguish the smouldering light. In
France, God Himself had shielded the flickering glimmer of faith
even in souls who no longer saw it.
Much the same thing has happened throughout France as one
sometimes sees at the bedside of a sick child. The crucifix is there
upon the wall, the mother has not forgotten how to pray, once
upon a time the father prayed also: now in their hour of agony,
when life and death hang in the balance, their eyes turn again to
the Crucified One. For even before the war, France was not anti-
Christian. Strangers often misjudge her, judge her too hastily, too
superficially by a word or a joke, instead of looking beneath the
disguise for the heart's core. It is only just, however, to admit
that the Frenchman has only himself to thank for his bad reputa-
tion. He calumniates himself, takes pleasure in accusing himself
of more sins than he commits: how can he complain of the
opinions resulting from this hypocrisy, this pretense of evil?
French literature by no means depicts true French society.
Novels are written to suit the taste of those who read them. Mil-
lions of men and women — ^and, generally speaking, they are the very
ones who have preserved their morals and their faith — never open
one of these books. The novelists do not take them into account ;
few ever introduce them upon his ,scene or choose his heroes
from among them. Rarely do these writers tell a beautiful story
of the common life, the simple life of faith of those who work, who
pray, who bring up their children, who from the cradle to the grave
have no history— except that common to us all.
1
736 THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE [Sept,
The immoral literature which stigmatizes France is not always ||
the work of French writers. France is not represented by a certain j
class of books written in French, neither is her government repre- I
scntative. Undoubtedly it is difficult for the outsider to make this
distinction; the fact remains that for three-quarters of a century
France has been governed by a minority. To make this clear, one
should review her political history from the days of the Revolution,
at least. Suffice it to recall that up to the present time the parties
favorable to religion have in politics torn each other to pieces;
moreover, the French voter so fears novelty that he prefers, on
the whole, to keep things as they are. He votes for the Republic
because he is a conservative. That the country is in the hands of
an anti-clerical government is the deplorable result of political
divisions and misunderstandings ; it does not warrant the conclusion
that the spirit of the country itself is anti-religious.
Furthermore, in favoring anti-religious laws, even the worst
enemies of the Catholic Church plead that these are directed only
against what they call the domination of the clergy, or clericalism,
and not against beliefs. This very hypocrisy is an acknowledg-
ment that the country has not abandoned its Faith. So truly does
the spirit of religion live in the nation that one sees men like M.
Caillaux, for instance, noted for their lack of sympathy with religion,
subsidizing Catholic works in order to obtain votes.
To be brief, the religious situation in France before the war
might be summed up thus :
First, there were the devout Catholics, a real power, far stronger
than is thought; a numerous and irreproachable clergy, hundreds
of religious congregations, a laity not only Catholic in name, but
practical and pious. This body prayed and worked. Patiently,
day by day, it sowed ; the seed awaited the sun.
Second, besides the devout Catholics there was a considerable
number of lukewarm Catholics practising their religion occasionally,
occupied chiefly with business and pleasure.
Third, over and above these the great mass of indifferents who
gave no thought to religion, except at birth, at marriage, at death.
Fourth, a small hostile minority, anti-clericals who waged war
upon Catholicism.
Religious hostility was the exception, the great mass of indiff-
erents kept the traditions of the Faith in their thoughts and feelings,
in their mental and moral habits : on certain feasts — Easter, Christ-
mas, All Saints, the Assumption, etc., they went to church; on the
1915] THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE 737
whole they neglected religion more or less completely, seeing no
need for it ; they were easily influenced by prejudices against priests
and their influence, but most of all were they given over to material
preoccupations, the joys of life. To this love of worldly pleasures
may be attributed also the lukewarmness of the great majority of
Catholics.
Christian faith had been planted in French souls, but two
causes tended to kill it in some, to arrest its development in others ;
two weeds choked the good seed — anti-clericalism and materialism.
The war has rooted out these two weeds and cast them into the
flames. Thanks to the war, millions of Frenchmen have seen the
priest at close range, and anti-clericalism has died a natural death.
Millions of Frenchmen have lived in the presence of death; death
hangs over them, touches them at every instant. Their sight is
opened to the life beyond; they have learned to value less the
pleasures of this world.
To comprehend fully the scope and the force of this living
sermon, one must realize that there are twenty-five thousand priests
with the armies, not only in the hospitals and ambulances, but at
the front; not only as chaplains, hospital attendants, stretcher-
bearers, but as combatants, officers, non-commissioned officers, pri-
vates in all the troops. The priest has no need to preach; his
presence speaks louder than words. And who placed him in this
position; who forced him into military service? His enemies.
When they strapped the knapsack on the priest's back, the anti-
clericals killed anti-clericalism.
Here is the priest doing military service ! Here along the rail-
ways he may be seen on guard, wearing his soutane, his gun over
his shoulder. The military trains pass ; the guards of the wagons,
the soldiers going to the front throw up their kipis and shout,
"Bravo, le cnre!'^ Religious poured into the barracks; exiles
came from afar to defend the land that drove them forth. They
remembered only that she was the land of their birth. Jesuits,
Assumptionists, Carthusians and Dominicans, Benedictines, Capu-
chins, monks of every order and from every place, were greeted
with applause. Yesterday anti-clericalism called them " foreigners
to the nation," but anti-dericalism lied. These men are comrades,
brothers at arms, brothers come home to their father's house, to
live and die with their own !
Sometimes the priest figures as an officer leading his men to
victory, as shown by Forain in one of his sketches. Sometimes he
VOL. a.— 47
738 THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE [Sept.,
is a comrade, digging trenches, sharing fraternally with the work-
man and the peasant the jokes and the mud of the trenches, the
dangers of shot and shell, joys, sorrows, life, death. Is a volunteer
needed; someone to face certain or almost certain death to carry
an order under fire? The priest is the first, or among the first,
to volunteer. When he is not actually fighting, he is the stretcher-
bearer who carries off the wounded, the hospital attendant who
cares for them ; he is first and foremost the chaplain who hears their
confessions, absolves them, consoles them, and to the dying man,
destitute of all, he gives all. Before, during, after the battle, up to
the last hour, he is the example, the comforter, the supreme friend.
" I will always cherish a special veneration for priests," writes
Captain B , "because of the magnificent way in which they
have done their duty as Frenchmen in this terrible war, and because
they have made believers take heart." Would you like to see for
yourselves how the priest acts?
Abbe Teulade was a professor at the Institute of Saint Felix
de Beaucaire. He was enlisted as a common soldier. He is at
the front. In his trench morning and evening prayers are recited
in common. From time to time the Kyrie, the Gloria, and the
Credo are chanted, and the Rosary said. Sometimes the abbe
hears confessions all day and all night. It was announced one day
that the colonel had fallen, close to the enemy's trenches. " Boys,"
said the commanding officer, " we cannot let him fall into the hands
of the Gentians." And he asked for a rescue party willing to brave
the enemy's fire. A squad started out, but was met by such a deadly
hail that the officer recalled it, fearing to sacrifice too many of his
men. " If, however, one of you has the courage to face death," he
said, " he may go." One man stepped out of the platoon, the Abbe
Teulade. The commander embraced him weeping. The priest ran
forward, shells rained upon him; four shots went through his cap,
two more carried off his kipi. At last he reached the colonel,
lifted him to his shoulder and returned. Bullets rained upon him.
He had almost gained the French lines when he was struck, and
rolled upon the ground with his precious burden. His comrades
rushed forward and rescued them. Abbe Teulade was only
wounded. While they were dressing his wounds, a young lieutenant
knelt down beside him. " Monsieur Tabbe," he said, " for a long
time I have not believed in, nor practised my religion. You have
converted me. I beg of you to hear my confession in the presence
of my subordinates." B^jfprp t^p ;soldiers the priest heard his
1915] THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE 739
lieutenant's confession, and gave him absolution with his bleeding
hand. Patriotism has preached an effective sermon to the soldier's
heart.
But what of materialism? What of the love of pleasure?
Once more let us turn our gaze upon the war. What retreat, as the
soldiers truly say, what sermon on death could so vividly portray
the nothingness of human life as this ever-present death, this rain
of bullets, this hail of horrible shells, this battle lasting not a few
hours, but a year, raging ceaselessly, one might say, day and night?
Crouching in the trenches from morning till night, and from night
till morning, a man sees and thinks of but one thing— death. He
sees life from a very different angle than before; the necessity and
the certainty of a future life loom large before him; all else seems
vanity. When Christ would restore to life the daughter of Jairus,
He first drove out the musicians. He has done the same for
France. This is what the war has accomplished for souls. The
reality, extent and efficiency of its work is attested alike by friend
and foe.
Canon Cabanel of Montpellier tells the story of his reception
in the trenches : " On my arrival I was greeted by cries of *Oh, the
chaplain! how good of you to come out here!' 'Out here' were
the outposts in the very teeth of the enemy. I replied, 'Are you
not here, my friends? Long live God and France!' 'Yes,' they
answered, 'Vive Dieu et vive la France!' Some were so touched
they shed tears of gratitude. I took them by the hand, I blessed,
I absolved them, and left behind me, I am sure, a new light of
hope in the hearts of my children."
A stretcher-bearer. Abbe Morcau, who is in Flanders, describes
a military Mass offered in a ruined church with shells falling all
around. Officers, soldiers and civilians sought to drown the noise
of the shot by the chant of the Credo, " This evening, if nothing
unforeseen occurs,' announced the chaplain, 'we will have a short
Vespers, beads and Benediction.' In the interim," continues the
stretcher-bearer, " we carried off the wounded and spent our few
free moments in what we call here 'taverns,' because we have a fire
there, plus something to drink — chickory without sugar, preten-
tiously called coffee.
At Traubach, in Alsace, a sergeant hospital attendant, M. Putot,
a curate of Champagny (Doubs), on the eve of All Saints heard
the confessions of a large number of officers and men. "The
following morning," he says, " there were at least four hundred
740 THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE [Sept.,
soldier communicants out of a thousand men. The church was
scarcely ever left empty during Uk day."
"I frequently have the opportunity to give absolution and
Holy Communion," writes a young priest of Ardeche, a private.
" Lately I had the happiness of saying Mass. Most of my comrades
wished to assist at it. Scnne of them wear medals and crosses
outwardly, fastened on their breasts or dieir kepis."
Abbe Salvan, a professor at the Petit Sinumure of Mootauban,
is a sergeant at the front. One day in the trench with his divisioti
he saw a poor little soldier crawl out of a neighboring trench where
there was no priest. Under a rain of shot, flat on his stomach, he
reached the entrance to the sergeant-priest's trench and whispered :
" A« you there, Salvan? "
"Yes, what do you want? You'll be shot down! If the
Germans see you it's ail up with you."
" Don't talk so much. Tell me, can you hear my confession ? "
" Yes, immediately."
" But I dare not kneel up. They will bowl me over."
" It's not necessary. Stay as you are."
And there as he was, lying on the edge of the trench, the little
soldier made his confession and received abscdution; then like a
great worm, he crawled slowly, slowly back and regained his trendi.
The home letters of the soldiers, full of simple confidences,
show how the thought of religion accompanies and dominates every
odier. A Dauphinois peasant wrote his wife : " One of our com-
rades says the Mass, a priest from Vienne who belongs to my
company. Next Sunday another soldier and myself are going to
try to serve Mass. I will pray hard for you and the children.
And I will be thinking how, four hundred miles apart, both father
and son are altar boys."
Another one says : " I see you are all praying for me; I diank
you for it. I am praying, too, for in such critical moments as I
have been through, when Acre is nothing left to hope for from man,
the fke of Faith, kindled in my childish h^rt by a far-aeeing, Chris-
tian mother, was rekindled and inflamed, and unconsciotisly my
lips uttered a prayer, asking of Him, Who is the Mast«- of us all,
and of the Virgin their blessed protection."
A soldier from Normany says : " Crowds gather tornid the
hastily erected altars on the battlefields, a recollected crowd, a crowd
that prays — and sometimes weeps."
Another tells of a Requiem for the regiment's dead : " At the
1915] THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE 741
end of the ceremony the officers, led by their colonel, received Holy
O>mmunion, a fine example for all present."
A general Communion at an open-air Mass for the dead said
over the still fresh graves of his ccmirades, is described by a soldier
from Toulouse. He says : " H among those present some had been
incredulous fools in the past, they were so no longer. From the
general to the youngest trooper, from the wildest to the wisest, they
were as one man. Shells burst at a little distance, but no one
budg^. Believe me, in these times no one thinks about his neigh-
bor; he just does what his conscience dictates. The officers were
the first to kneel around the priest, and then, one after the other, we
all knelt on both knees on the wet ground to receive Communion.
No one did it because he had to, but because he wanted to."
The same impression is given by another soldier : " Before the
war a great many fellows were ashamed to kneel down and make the
Sign of the Cross. You don't find any of these around now. On
Sundays if wc are where we can hear Mass, there is never room
enough. Afterwards everyone is lighthearted; it gives us courage ;
we feel ourselves a great deal stronger."
" I never lie down at night, nor wake up in the morning, with-
out saying a prayer," says a man from Orleans. " We all, all of my
division, received absolution in the trenches, while the howitzers
shelled us. The bravest man was the priest, for standing above the
trench, he risked being shot down at any minute. B«t what of
that! That doesn't scare the priests. Among all those I have
met, I have not seen one coward."
" I never believed that a prayer could give such strength to a
man," writes a quartermaster.
Andre Charpentier, a journalist, wrote back to the Hotd-Dieu
at Orange where he had been nursed for a wound : " For the first
time in my life I realized what the Christian faith was, the belief
in the beyond with all its hopes ; I fed I now understand my title
of Catholic, and that I can never again forget it. Heretofore I
would allow people to bladcguard religion. Now I could not
tolerate that I will not come back a bigot, far from it, but I can
never again be a skeptic. To see death close at hand oitting down
those about us at every stroke, makes one dreadfully dear-sighted
as to the true aspect of things."
" Marching between shot and shdl," says another, " all throw
themselves on the mercy of God."
The truth is human respect is no more, and converts do not
742 THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE [Sept.,
hide their conversions. A man from Languedoc describes to his
parish priest the change effected in himself, thus: " The day I left
I heard Mass to please my wife and my mother, but I tell you
frankly I now regret acting from that motive. As a man hears the
boom of the cannon and the whistle of the gfrape shot, when from
time to time he sees a comrade fall, or stumbles upon an unknown
corpse in the fields; during long days of waiting and terrible nig^hts
of suffering in the holes of the trenches, he thinks and he reflects.
" Yes, he thinks of the fireside and the sweet home life, and
he reflects seriously on the time ill-spent, of the hours, which might
have been happy, wasted or frittered away in wrongdoing. But
now what a change! I am not the same man. I do my duty as
a Frenchman, as a soldier without parade or fear, and likewise I
do my duty as a Christian, morning and night I say fervently the
little prayer and the aspiration you taught me. On my return
I will be a good Christian and go regularly to my duties." And he
adds a postscript : " You can show my letter to anyone you please.
I have weighed and pondered well every word I have written, and,
moreover, when I get back my conduct will prove it."
This religious awakening in the army is so general, so public,
it causes great anxiety to the organs of anti-clericalism, as, for
instance. La Lcmterne and L'Humanite. They wish steps taken to
prevent the religious propaganda in the hospitals and among the
troops; they demand "the laicization of the front." Is this not
a positive acknowledgment of the strength of the Catholic move-
ment?
A militant Socialist of the eighteenth division recognizes this
fact in a letter published by UHumaniti: " I was able to make a
number of psychological studies. Conventions, prejudices had
fallen off, leaving life stripped. Men showed themselves for what
they really were, brave or cowardly, noble or base, unselfish or
egotistical. And I could appreciate the religious awakening so
much noticed to-day, and so much talked about
" Whether we halted, whether we rested, the night after a battle
or after a march, the mind was never at rest. The vision of the
wounded was ever before our eyes, the groans of the dying sounded
in our ears, the thought of self, of wife, of children haunted us.
Will my turn come next? Ah, then is the moment of self-examina-
tion, then a man, separated from the world of things by this
rupture of equilibrium called war, travels back to his childhood.
The influence of early education asserts itself. And so it is that
1915] THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE 743
normally, logically, I may say, is brought about the return to
religious ideas.
" Men without ideals, who have abandoned all Christian prac-
tices, in the midst of such a catastrophe feel their littleness. No
longer enslaved and driven by economic forces, craving an ideal
to support them in these terrible times, they turn to religion
This neo-religious movement looked serious to me at first.
It has been exploited, protected, promoted by the chaplains and
some of the majors, and frankly I believe that some of it will
persist when the war is over,''
This is an enemy's confession. He speaks as an enemy, he
seeks to explain ; nevertheless, he recognizes and confirms the reality
and durability of the Catholic renaissance.
The English, fighting side by side with the French troops
in France, are struck with the religious feeling they have witnessed,
and feel its effects. A Protestant officer in the British army a short
time ago was expressing his admiration, and added : " My orderly
who is a Wesleyan, says he is going to study that religion, for it
looks to him like the true one."
In fact there is quite a movement towards Catholicism among
the officers and men of the British Expeditionary Force. The
example of the French army, and the faith of the people about
them, have attracted them. Like the Wesleyan orderly, many of
them are inquiring into the Catholic religion and go to church.
The soldiers have evidently learned the lesson of the war;
now the soldiers in France to-day number thousands of men, in
fact, with the exception of invalids, all the men between nineteen
and forty-eight are soldiers. But it does not end there. The
soldiers are not the only ones who have learned the lesson. The
stentorian voice of events has resounded throughout the land and in
every soul. When the first cannon was fired, and indeed before that,
as soon as there were rumors of the cannon's thunder, there was an
immense impetus towards prayer. The churches were filled, the
number of confessions and Communions increased greatly every-
where. Many persons — some of them personally known to me —
who had abandoned the practice of religion, returned to the Sacra-
ments.
Not a single parish, even in the tiniest village, but offers a
Mass at least once a week for France and the army ; many parishes
offer two Masses, and everywhere, besides the Masses, there are
prayers, the beads. Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament every
744 THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE [Sept.,
day, or at least several times a week, sometimes even twice a day,
and always for the same intention. These Masses and prayers are
well attended, and during all the long months of the war the first
fervor has not abated. The thought of fathers, husbands, sons,
brothers exposed to such great and continuous danger brings souls
back to God, and draws them closer and closer to Him. The truly
religious tone of the letters from the dear absent ones finds an
echo in every heart.
The intellectual circles whence emanated the evil of irreligion,
are not what they were twenty years ago. A marked change
was noticeable even before the war. The younger artistic and
literary set of the twentieth century are rather more Catholic in
their tendencies and sentiments and even in their practice. To
mention only those who have been killed by the enemy, Piguy ,
Lotti, Laurentie, Kenan's grandson, and a good many others, were
all Catholics. When Delpech, the son of the former grandmaster
of the Freemasons, was picked up dead on the battlefield, a religious
medal was found on his person.
It looks as if events, in giving the lie so entirely to their
theories and sympathies, had effected a change in minds blinded
by materialistic philosophy, as we hear M. Bergson stating to the
Academy of Sciences last January : " It will be necessary after
the war to revise the tendencies in the mechanical arts and in science
which are not regulated by moral ideas. It is evident to all that
the material development of civilization when it pretends to be
sufficient unto itself, and still more when it places itself at the service
of base sentiments and unhealthy ambitions, may lead to the most
abominable barbarism."
The youthful intellectuals have outstripped M. Bergson. With
the cannon for teacher, even those who were not started on the way
before the war have arrived at Faith, the true teacher of morality
and of all civilization. There they have met with the artisan and
the peasant. This sentiment is expressed very concisely by a student
of the Superior Normal School, where the best of the university
students are prepared. He was wounded, and during his conva-
lescence wrote : " The sight of the battlefield transformed us. The
daily harvest of death made us meditate The war cured us
of the disease of the century We now return to the God of
our early years, to the God of our mothers, to the Good God,"
We cannot value matters of conscience as we would commer-
cial transactions; exact statistics of a religious revival, which we
1915] THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE 745
cannot fully analyze, would be impossible. It is far too soon!
We can, however, give a few figures. From August to December,
1913, there were sixty-nine thousand eight hundred Communions
in the parish church of Notre Dame at Versailles ; during the same
period in 1 914 there were eighty-seven thousand, a gain of eighteen
thousand over the preceding year.
Will this Catholic renaissance endure? The converts them-
selves say that it will, and everyone is convinced of it, not only the
clergy, not only Catholics, but also their enemies, as seen in the
warning of the militant Socialist to UHumaniti. It will endure
because it rests upon a Christian foundation, serious and solid, and
was occasioned by a Wow &o terrible, so general and prolonged that
it has made a profound impression.
The attitude of the French prisoners in Germany is a prc^nosis
of perseverance. They are no longer threatened with the danger
of immediate death. Notwithstanding this they believe and practise
their religion, and conversions are taking place among those not
already converted. One of the chajdains. Abbe Duriez says : " We
say Mass every day, and our chapels are always filled. In the
evening we have prayers, hymns, the Way of the Cross There
is much good to be done, and many are returning to their duties.
On Christmas we had more than three thousand Communions, and
one thousand and twenty-five men approached the Sacraments at
New Year."
Out of the two hundred and forty officers, prisoners at Ingol-
stadt, more than two-thirds practise their religion. In the camp at
Altengrabou, near Magdeburg, the same movement is widespread
and deep-seated. " There are four priests among the prisoners,"
relates the Abbe A who has just returned, " they show them
the greatest sjrmpathy. Many have come back to God. And these
conversions are sincere and lasting in their effects. These men,
removed from danger, in full possession of their reason, with a
full realization of their duty, adhere to the resolutions made in
the hour of peril."
The Catholic renaissance in France is, therefore, certain. But
what will be its consequences? What forecast may we make?
As far as it is possible to reckon the future by the present, judging
by what we see and hear at the present time, we have reason to
assert that the changed point of view in France will produce a
complete change in the religious situation when the war is over.
It is already spoken of everywhere, and especially among the work-
746 THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE [Sept,
ing people. It is the universal cry. Henceforth France will not
give place to an anti-religious policy. Assuredly the sectaries — the
inimical minority — ^will not disarm. One should not be astonished
to see them open an active campaign against Catholics. Formerly,
by means of skillful calumnies, they might have drawn in their
wake the whole mass of indifferents. But to-day that great mass
is no longer indifferent ; that is the major point. By means of the
war, it has formed a religious opinion. Most of the thousands of
soldiers, who during days never to be forgotten, have lived with
the priest and with death, believe and practise their religion to-day;
even those who have not found faith and piety, have only sympathy
and respect for priests and religion ; there is not one among them
who would favor an anti-clerical policy ; not one who would permit
it. It would be like firing on their comrades in the trenches.
Now all the men between nineteen and forty-eight, excepting
invalids, are soldiers. With their parents who are older, and their
brothers and sons who are younger and who, naturally, will think
as they do, they include all, or nearly all, the men in France; the
whole, or nearly the whole, of the electorate. Almost no one will
follow the anti-clericals, and if the government makes common
cause with this minority, it will be swept away with it. The situa-
tion to-day is so evident the government will take good care not to
do anything so fatal to its own interests.
Whatever may be the personal convictions of those in power
now, they will have to conform to the spirit of the country or resign
their places to others. In this respect the government is the prisoner
of events and must obey them. France is practically Catholic
again, and Alsace-Lorraine, in becoming French, insists upon keep-
ing its religious liberties. On that side, also, the government will
be obliged to respect Catholic belief: every patriot will see to it
This is already understood. What is called "the compact of
Thann " is now an historic fact. On the twenty-ninth of Novem-
ber, 191 4, in the little town of Thann, under the tricolor flag of
reunion, General Joffre announced to the Alsatians, in the name of
the government : " France brings to you with the liberties she has
always respected, respect for your personal liberties, the liberties of
the Alsatians, of your traditions, of your convictions, of your
customs."^
^Bulletin des ArtnSes, i d6cembre, 19 14. The Bulletin des Armies is an
official publication. The government, therefore, made itself responsible for the
declaration of the Commander-in-Chief.
1915] THE CATHOLIC RENAISSANCE IN FRANCE 7A7
A few months later, on February 24, 1915, at Saint Armain,
President Poincare, in the presence of all the Alsatian mayors of
that neighborhood, solemnly repeated and confirmed the declaration
of Thann. He presided at a class in a public school taught by
Sisters; he decorated a Religious who had done nothing more than
educate children. It has, therefore, been solemnly announced and
accepted that Alsace is to have religious liberty : liberty of instruc-
tion, liberty of worship, normal relations with Rome. And these
same liberties, would they be denied on the other side of the Vosges ?
Would there be two Frances: an Alsatian Catholic France and
another non-Catholic France? Is this likely? Is it possible
with the new state of mind? For instance, in the future will not
the current flow irresistibly towards renewed diplomatic relations
with the Vatican, will not all allow themselves to be carried along
by it gently and noiselessly?
Furthermore, many signs point to a religious peace. To the
pastors of Meurthe and Moselle, the prefect, M. Mirmon, who up
to that thne had passed for an anti-clerical, stated plainly : " We
will rebuild your churches." And when M. Poincare visited the
places devastated by the Germans, he approved M. Mirmon's speech
and confirmed his promise. The government will rebuild the
churches ! There was a time when it talked of closing them : but
we are a long way off from that ! The execution of the laws against
the Congregations is stopped. Who would dream of taking it up
again? Who would wish to exile again those who rushed to their
country's defence?
The war has united the French. When the President of the
Republic went in person to express to the bombarded city of Arras
the affectionate sympathy of the country, he was seen walking in
the street between the bishop and the prefect. May we not see
in this a symbol of reconciliation? May we not say with reason
of Catholic France the words which come to the lips when, after the
winter, one sees the buds appearing on the tips of the branches
bursting with sap : " The spring is at hand."
THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR.
BY THOMAS B. REILLY.
|EW periods of human history have been more fruitful
than the thirteenth century — that hour of faith,
romance and glory, those tumultous hundred y^ars
of science, saints and sinners. True, the pageants
are less than a dream and the crusader with his
captain-prince long since dust with the dust of kindred. Thrones
are vanished, crowns are lost and, in the twilight of the years, the
sometime great loom up, if at all, wraith-like and silent. Not so
Our Lady's Torch — St. Dominic ; that sweet tongue of poverty, St.
Francis of Assisi. Who has not heard of the Angelic Doctor;
St. Anthony, hope of the Paduans; SS. Louis of France, Bona-
venture, Nicholas of Tolentino, Edmund of Canterbury!
And the women! It was an age of illustrious women. Con-
sider the variety : SS. Clare, Margaret of Cortona, Rose of Viterbo,
Isabella of France, Hedwige of Poland, Elizabeth of Portugal,
Gertrude of Germany, Agnes of Bohemia, and that Princess-Saint,
Elizabeth of Hungary. The stories of their lives have been re-
counted many times, but there is one that always teases to be told
again. It is, in certain aspects, the sweetest and saddest of them
all — so naive and humanly tender, so brief yet spiritually fruitful,
that it must needs be a bloodless heart that is left unmoved at the
telling.
In the year 1207 there was born of Queen Gertrude, wife of
Andrew II., King of Hungary, a daughter. She was baptized with
all the pomp and circumstance of royalty, and was named Elizabeth.
Like St. Frances of Rome and St. Rita of Cascia, this daughter of
a king gave early signs of the quality of her soul, being regarded
throughout her father's kingdom as a child of special grace and
brilliant destiny. At the age of four she was affianced to a son of
the Landgrave of Thuringia, in the land of the Gemians, where,
in a fortress-like chateau that crowned the austere heights of the
Wartburg, the little princess iDegan her strangely ordered life among
a foreign people.
Elizabeth, prayerful beyond her years, was charitable almost
to a fault. So moved was her tender heart at sight of the pleading
1915] THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR 749
poor that she hid siege to the Landgrave's purse, and ransacked the
castle kitchens. Here was a trait that rudely shocked the pride
and dignity of the courtiers. The officers of the court murmured
against this unseemly bias of ft king's daughter, who was destined
one day to be duchess of the realm. To make matters worse, the
young princess b^;an to show an unusual spirit of self-sacrifice.
Sundays and feast days found her doffing gk>Tes, jewels and laces,
that she might assist at Mass with an humble exterior and a recol-
lected heart. It is related that on a certain Feast of the Assumption,
the Ehichess Sophia ordered her daughter Agnes and the little
princess to don their most costly robes and wear their jewels and
crowns, that they might fittingly take part in the services of the
day at the Church of Our Lady at Eisenach. The ducal party had
scarcely taken their places in the church when Elizabeth, at sight of a
large crucifix, became so affected that die removed her crown and,
prostrating hersdf , hid her face in her little hands and wept freely.
Roundly censured by the Duchess Sophia for acting like a country-
woman, the child, still in tears, answered that she felt it a mockery
to wear a crown of gold and precious jewels in the presence of her
thorn-crowned Saviour.
In the spring of 1207, the Landgrave died. Louis, the then
eldest son, became Duke of Thuringia, sharing the government of
the coimtry with his mother, the Duchess Sophia, and his brothers,
Henry and Conrad. It was a critical hour for the little princess.
Where, heretofore, out of deference to the Landgrave, she had been
tolerated, she was now openly derided and reproached, her diarity
and pious practices bringing down upon her innocent head the
scorn and sarcasm of the worMly-wise. Her obviously increasing
love for the young duke added fuel to the flame, rousing^ in the
innermost circles of the court a panic of dread. Agnes, the beau-
tiful sister of Louis, became antagonistic to the point of open insult,
charging the tender-hearted Elizabeth with having mistaken her
vocation, which was clearly not that of a duchess, but of a kitchen
drudge. The Duchess Sophia, with more tact but not less feeling,
tried to persuade the child to enter a convent. It was dear that
the real business forward was the exile of this alleged socially-
mipossible gfirl from the Court of Thurii^a.
But her bethrothed, faithful to the end, preserved a memorably
pure and unswervable love for the gift God gave him. The com-
panionship between Louis and the little princess flowered into the
tenderest of affections. Then, as to the end of their brief Hves,
he was to her " my dear brother," and she to him " my sweet sister."
750 THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR [Sept.,
A few years later, the young duke, aged twenty-one, made the
Princess Elizabeth, aged fourteen, his wife and the first duchess
of the realm.
Elizabeth, as a wife, was specially gifted to charm the heart
of a husband. Added to the singular purity of her life was the
fascination of her exterior beauty. Her features were fine and
regfular, her complexion a clear brown, her hair was black, and her
figure of " unrivalled grace and elegance." Her deportment, in
keeping with her birth and character, was dignified, gracious and
simple. But it was her eyes that chiefly held and enslaved the
attention — dark, limpid, lustrous eyes, swimming with tenderness,
trust and mercy.
The world for the Duchess Elizabeth was one with her yoimg
lord. She loved him with childlike vivacity, instant obedience wait-
ing upon a gesture, a look, a known preference. At table, in spite
of a contrary custort, she would be seated no place except at the
side of her husband. She left no effort untried to control his heart
and please his eyes. She studied his likes and dislikes; scrupu-
lously guarded herself against all that might make for his annoyance
or impatience. He, in turn, moved by her devotion, hastened to
join himself to her virtues and piety.
When the young duke was obliged by important matters of
state to journey beyond the frontiers whither he could not take her,
Elizabeth would doff her royal robes and, donning the costiune of a
widow, spend the interval of his absence in vigils, prayers, and
penances. But, at the first hint of her lord's retiun, she would
hasten to adorn herself, and with love a-leap in her eyes, joy in
her heart, run, radiant with beauty, to meet him. It was, no doubt,
a revelation to the sophisticated court — ^this spectacle of a truly
happy and amazingly devoted couple; a thought-provoking picture
for the great lords and ladies to contemplate.
Yet, in excessive love lie peril and grief, for love is a gift
from God, and the gifts of God are held always on difficult terms.
Elizabeth, aware of the depth of her love for her husband, and
keenly conscious of its Source, not only treasured it as a priceless
possession, but publicly acknowledged her gratitude by increasing
the perfection of her life. The first intrusion of an unworthy
thought into the field of affection is the beginning of the end of
happiness. Against such an invasion, Elizabeth fought with all the
strength of her young and susceptible heart. Of that battle, with
its privations, alarms and courages, you may read at length in any
1915] THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR 751
of her biographies. The pertinent thought here is that, as in the
case of all other great saints, Elizabeth's austerities to self, her
painful approaches toward God, her constant reprisals upon passion,
mood and frailty, served only to increase her gaiety, accent her
tenderness, and heighten her exterior charms. Intolerant of all
affected piety or grief, slje held that a long face at prayers was,
in a sense, an insult; that our glance toward heaven should be
accompanied with glad eyes and a cheerful heart.
It was at this time that the sweet violence of the son of Peter
Bemadone, sweeping town and country, had shocked into conscious-
ness the faith of thousands of men and women, and made necessary
the establishment of the celebrated Third Order and, its inspired
complement, the Order of the Poor Clares. The success of the
Third Order was instant and its exemplification widespread. It
attracted the highest and stooped for the lowliest. Its membership
was made up of representatives of all walks of life: priest, prince,
and peasant; queen, dame, and housewife. At no time was the
sense of the phrase " in the world but not of it " so generally and
strikingly visible as in that tumultuous year of 1221.
Among the first to welcome the spirit of St. Francis was the
Duchess Elizabeth. She sought her husband's permission to be
enrolled in this army of mortification and mercy. The permission
granted, she became a memorable exponent of the spirit of the
Seraph of Assisi.
On March 22, 1222, in the chateau of the Kreuzburg, not
far from Marburg, Elizabeth, at the age of sixteen, became the
mother of her first child, a son, who was named Herman. During
the next three years, at the ducal residence on the Wartburg, three
daughters were given her. These were named, respectively, Sophia,
Sophia the younger, and Gertrude. After each of these occasions,
Elizabeth, clad in a plain woolen robe, would take the new-bom in
her arms and make her way barefooted down a mountain path to the
Church of St. Catherine, outside the walls of Eisenach. There,
placing the infant, together with some offerings, upon the altar, she
would ask God to bless her gifts, and receive her child among His
friends and servants.
Elizabeth's confessor, a certain Master Conrad, poor, pious,
but strict to the point of harshness, forbade the duchess to partake
of any food bought with certain money then being taken from the
poor in the form of a tax. Elizabeth, with much ingenuity, obeyed
the command, often leaving the most abundantly served table
hungry. One is prepared to hear that the old antagonisms of the
752 THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR [Sept.,
officers burst forth anew. The duke himself did not escape a tart
reminder and some very plain words.
Elizabeth's charity and piety flamed brighter than ever. Her
husband's resources proving insufficient, she gave away her personal
gems and jewels. And, not content with almsgiving, she sought out
the sick and the wretched that she might expend upon them the
excess k>ve in her soul. No distance was too great, no road too
rough, between her and the wards of Christ. The young duchess
delighted to go on her errands of mercy in secret. And it is related
that, one day, having set forth, carrying under her cloak a quantity
of food for distribution to the poor, she came face to face with her
husband, who was on his way home from the hunt Surprised to
see his wife toiling, heavily burdened, along an unfrequented moun-
tain path, he said to her : " Let us see what you carry." And
drawing aside her cloak, he was astonished to see in the folds of
her dress a mass of beautiful roses, red and white. It was no longer
the season of flowers.
No object of Elizabeth's charity received more compassion
than those specially afllicted creatures, the lepers. She was instantly
and irresistiWy drawn to them. Where the hand of God lay heaviest,
there the tenderness of this young woman was greatest Even
the injunctions of her spiritual director, Conrad, were sometimes
lost sight of in the face of these piecemeal victims of death.
One little leper, abandoned by everyone, she todc to her castle,
bathed and anointed his reeking ulcers, and laid him on the royal
couch. When the protesting and terror-stricken Sophia led her
son to see the mad deed of his wife, Louis, the eyes of his soul
opened, saw stretched on the sheets the figure of the Crucified Christ.
Then came the famine. Death and desolation swept the coun-
try. The people were forced to eat roots and wild berries and the
flesh of dead beasts. Elizabeth, in spite of the protests of the
officers, threw open the treasury and granaries of the castle, in an
attempt to relieve the horrors of the hour.
Louis, returning from Italy, was met by a committee of the
officers, who, fearing his anger at loss of money and provisions,
related at length the story of their unheeded counsels. " Is my
dear wife well?" asked the young duke. "That is all I care to
know. The rest matters not." Elizabeth, apprised of her hus-
band's return, came running to him and threw herself into his arms.
"Dear sister," he asked, "what has become of thy poor people
during this sad year? " And she said to him: " I have given to
God what was His, and He hath taken care of what belonged to
1915] THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR 753
thee and to me." An answer that contains the golden thought that
only the wise of heart understand and only the saintly put in practice.
After a few brief days, came a ringing call to arms by Emperor
Frederic II. Under the banner of the Cross, with the old cry:
"God wills it!" Christianity gathered for the mid-fifth of those
strangely resulting world-duels — the Crusades. Over the story of
those frenzied outpourings, who has not lingered thoughtful, won-
dering, amazed ? Louis made his vow and received the cross. And
then the thought of his wife, who was with child at the time,
swept his heart. He delayed the telling of his enrollment, hiding
his badge in a pocket of his purse. But one evening, in a moment
of tender familiarity, Elizabeth unloosened her husband's belt and,
searching his purse, drew forth the cross ! As its meaning flashed
upon her mind, she fell senseless at his feet.
The duke, having arranged for the government of the duchy,
confided his wife to the particular care of the Duchess Sophia and
his brothers, Henry and Conrad. Two days* journey beyond the
frontiers of Thuringia, whither, in spite of her condition and the
counsel of friends, Elizabeth, her heart breaking with sorrow, had
accompanied her husband, the moment of final parting arrived.
The duke showed his wife a ring with which he was wont to seal
his private papers, telling her to believe whatever should be said by
the person bringing it to her. Then, asking her to remember their
happy life and fond love, he bespoke her prayers, bade farewell, and
rode away. Elizabeth, sobbing in the arms of her ladies, followed
him with her glance till he had gone from view. When, at last,
she turned homeward, it was with a foreboding at heart that
she was never again to see him alive. At the castle she laid aside
her royal robes and put on the dress of a widow. That dress was
never again exchanged for princely garments. Louis was stricken
with fever while embarking at Brindisi. A few days later, at the
age of twenty-seven, in the flower of his youth, he lay dead in the
port of Otranto.
Elizabeth had scarcely recovered from confinement with her
fourth child, Gertrude, when a messenger with signet ring and story
arrived at the castle on the Wartburg. It was the Duchess Sophia
that carried the sad disclosure to the unsuspecting mother. It was
a cruel blow, and, for a few heartrending moments, sealed the lips
of the stricken woman with violent silence. When speech returned,
slie ran through the corridors, crying out, " He is dead ! He is
dead ! " They found her sobbing piteously against a wall in the
VOL. a.-M8
754 THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR [Sept.,
refectory. Evening stars and morning light were never again the
same.
Evening stars had scarcely w^hitened through the dusk when
Henry, inflamed by unworthy counsels, despoiled Elizabeth of her
rights and possessions, and, on a mid-winter's day, drove her, with
her children and two maids, beyond the castle walls. The outcasts
crept down the mountain side to the city of Eisenach. Conspiracy
had been there before them. Door after door was shut in their
faces. It was only when the keeper of a sordid wayside tavern
had been appealed to, that humanity relented. An out-house, whence
swine had been driven, was offered the little band for shelter
against the night winds. At the sound of the matin bell in the
Franciscan convent, Elizabeth and her frightened group went for-
ward through the bleak night for sanctuary. There, gripped with
cold and faint with hunger, they sat until sometime next day when,
at sight of her starving children, the distracted mother once more
braved the inhospitable streets. But go where she would, ask
whom she might, there were neither crumbs to be had, nor a roof to
be found. The hand that had, a few years before, thrown open
the treasury of the castle for the relief of the people of Eisenach,
was now, in its own hour of need, outstretched in vain.
Those thoughtless poor! Their attitude became that of the
old beggar woman who, meeting Elizabeth midway the muddy
stream of the Lobersbach, pushed her from the stcppitig stones into
the water, with the scornful declaration: " Lie there! While you
were duchess, you wouldn't live as one. Now you're poor and
lying in mud. And I wouldn't stoop to lift you.'' A biting, sharp
sentence, quick with the spirit of the world.
There is a wealth of material, dealing with the supernatural,
connected with this period of the Saint's life, over which whoso
wills may with profit linger. It was the Duchess Sophia that first
came to the relief of Elizabeth. All pleading with Henry and
Conrad proving vain, the dowager duchess sent word in secret
to Elizabeth's maternal aunt, the Abbess of Kitzingen. The latter
had her niece and children taken across the frontiers of Franconia
and lodged in the abbey. Later, at command of her uncle, the
Prince-Bishop of Bamberg, Elizabeth took up her residence in the
castle of Potenstein, not far from Bayreuth.
The bishop, pondering the age — twenty — and the striking
beauty of his niece, sought to persuade her to make a second
marriage, offering for her consideration none other than Emperor
^
1915] THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR 755
Frederic II., then a widower. But Elizabeth, who had promised
her widowhood to God, remained steadfast against his lordship's
arguments. Her uncle's importunities, doubtless, were many and
strong. Elizabeth, perhaps as a respite, made a visitation to the
castle of her ancestors, then a monastery on a ridge of the Alps
overlooking Bavaria. Thence she was suddenly recalled to Bam-
berg to receive the remains of her husband, which the Thuring^an
knights were bringing with them on their return from the Crusade.
As the tender-hearted Elizabeth looked upon all that was left
of him that had shared with her the springtime of life, she became
inconsolable. Kindly hands led her away from the bleached bones.
And when the knights gathered around her in the little grassy
cloister near the cathedral, she spoke of her children, her life at
Eisenach, and the acts of Henry. The knights at once besought
the bishop to confide his niece and her children to their care and
protection. His lordship acceding, Elizabeth re-crossed the frontiers
to bury her dead in his loved abbey of Reynhartsbrunn.
Sophia, with Henry and Conrad and half the dukedom, has-
tened to the abbey to pay their last respects to their sometime
prince. In the presence of the dead Louis and his war-seasoned
knights, a sense of the dramatic must have thrilled the hearts of
the courtiers. Knighthood and oppression faced each other. And
the result ? A public address, promising instant and merciless retri-
bution on the oppressors of Elizabeth and her children, staggered
with its force and meaning not only the conscience-stricken Henry,
but the other conspirators as well. Herman, under the regency
of his uncle, was at once proclaimed Duke of Thuringia, and Eliza-
beth returned to the Wartburg. But her excessive love for poverty,
her pious practices, and her absence from all court ceremonies, soon
roused in the courtiers sentiments of contempt and revenge. They
neither spoke to nor visited her ; snubbed her at every opportunity ;
passed her by, murmuring of a ** mad woman and a fool."
Elizabeth, dominated by a desire for complete detachment,
resolved to bind herself by vows to the life of a tertiary. Her
wish was accomplished when, one Good Friday, in the Franciscan
church at Marburg, she laid her hands on the bare altar-stone, and
renounced her will, her children, her relations, and all the pomps
and pleasures of the world. Her hair was cut. She was clothed
in a gray robe and girdled with a cord. Thus garbed, and bare-
footed, the royal princess of Hungary went forth, like a mendicant,
into the city streets. The castle on the Wartburg, so little hospitable
756 THE PATRONESS OF THE POOR [Sept.,
to the saintly princess, knew her no more. Three centuries later
a revolting monk found refuge and a welcome within its walls.
It was one thing for the ducal residence to be finally free
of a " mad woman and a fool ;" it was quite another to have the
prestige of the House of Thuringia besmirched by this same mad
woman tramping barefooted about the streets of Marburg.
Calumny, scorn and insult were visited upon the memory and
person of the woman that had deliberately turned her back upon
the legitimate pleasures of life — ^honors, home and children. But
the sting of it all, as likewise the mystery, was the unfailing sweet-
ness and serenity wherewith these heroic renouncements were
carried off. So great and so well-noised abroad was Elizabeth's
charity that Marburg became crowded with the needy and afflicted.
Money, food and clothing were the least of her gifts; above these,
like stars above a battlefield, were her constant example and kindly
counsel that freshened faith, kindled hope, and made peace in
troubled hearts.
The story of these last days of the Saint's life is one of
incredible docility, astounding patience, and insuperable htmiility.
It is likewise one filled with striking examples of virtue divinely
rewarded, of bleak spaces of spiritual languors, and not a few
instances of crushing doubts. Of Elizabeth's life in Marburg,
much might be said, as much has been written. The shadows were,
indeed, profound. But the lights, the splendors !
Two years had elapsed since Elizabeth had donned the gray
robe of the Order of St. Francis. Toward midnight of Novem-
ber 19, 1231, in the twenty-fourth year of her age, Elizabeth of
Hungary, with the words " Silence! silence! " on her lips, passed
on to meet, in another kingdom, the Love that had raptured the
souls of herself and her lost crusader.
A truly remarkable life — affianced at four, a wife at fourteen,
at sixteen a mother, a widow at twenty, and at twenty- four a Saint!
In the white, yet ardent love of her girlish heart for Louis; in the
exquisite purity of her married life; in the heroic renouncements,
the unconquerable charity, the Christ-like forgiveness of her widow-
hood, St. Elizabeth of Hungary is a startling revelation even to the
Christian world. No other story so teases the imagination, or so
grips the heart with sweet humanness, as that of this Princess-
Saint. The memory of it lingers in one's mind like the perfume of
a favorite flower, hintful of vanished gardens and of dawns in the
springtime of life.
THE FIDDLER.
BY MARY C. MAGUIRE.
|T was a little Irish village in the West, between the
mountains and the sea, that lay within half a mile of
each other. It was old world even for Connaught,
and the people were of the old race. They were
strangely wise, there away from the outside world,
and they all had a simple joy in life that was wanting in the big town
I had left. I had been a w^eek there, and had made friends with
half the village, before I met the fiddler. It was at a " spree," to
which old Mickey Flynn invited me, that I first saw her — for
the fiddler was a woman.
I entered the clean-swept kitchen, where the lads and lasses
were all gathered, and took a seat of honor in the corner, near
old Mickey himself. Jig, jig went the fiddle, and delighted eyes
were watching Lanty O'Brien, the strolling dancing-master, as he
stamped out a jig on the half -door that had been placed in the
middle of the earthen floor. My eyes traveled all round the
circle of beaming faces, till they reached the player. A woman
was seated on a chair at the bottom of the kitchen with a yellow
fiddle under her chin, playing away with all her might. She was
an ordinary looking peasant woman, with a kindly weather-beaten
face. Little wisps of stiff, red hair stuck out round ,her forehead ;
her eyes followed the gyrations of Lanty's feet, and her whole
body kept time with her music.
Old Mickey Flynn saw my interested gaze. "That's Mary
Brady," said he, " she's a fine hand at the fiddle. Her father was
the greatest fiddler in the province of Connaught; troth you might
have heard tell of blind Brady, the fiddler. He was famed over
everywhere. The quality often used to go to his house, up there
on the mountain, to hear him play ; you could stand to your knees
in snow listening to him. But he was the drunken rascal too. And
blind as he was, mind you, he could put the comether on all the
girls, and in the end he married the purtiest wan in the countryside.
That was Mary's mother."
I listened interestedly. Lanty O'Brien had finished his exhibi-
tion of step-dancing, and the boys and girls were taking their places
on the floor. The player, to give them more room, moved her chair
758 THE FIDDLER [Sept.,
nearer my direction, and I met the smiling gaze of her eyes, which
held a wonderful, dreamy light.
•' Her father taught her the fiddle? "
" Yes, and she's been playin' since she was the height of my
knee. Only for her, now, what would the youngsters do for a dance ?
But they daren't send round the hat for her. She'd never play for
them again, she's so proud." "
I was eager to hear more.
"She's not married?"
" Oh, no, there was no one she'd take ; though, like her father,
she had a way with her. And plenty of boys wanted her. But
when any of them would want her to be his housekeeper, she'd
laugh in his face."
" *Do you think,' she'd say, 'I'd lave my fine house on the
mountain side, where I've nothing to do but tend myself and herd
the sheep to marry ye and grow old in no time?' The boys left
her alone after a while. She lives by herself at the side of the
mountain beyond — you've often passed her house. It's where her
father lived when he wasn't trampin' around with the fiddle. She
has a patch of grass there for a few sheep, and she does have tlie
finest lambs in the country. She's a great woman, is Mary, but
she's curious. Her father was a curious man."
" I think sometimes she's not all there," said Mickey's daughter-
in-law, who was standing near.
Mickey turned to her. " Arragh, let no body hear you sayin'
that. Didn't old Father Pat — God be good to him — say she had more
wisdom than himself. She comes from a knowledgeable family,
too, on her mother's side. Two cures have descended to her : she
has the cure of the sprain and the cure of the rose. Troth, Molly
Brady would be missed if she died, and that's more than can be
said of all the women." There was a pause in the dancing. Some
of the boys went out, to cool themselves, presumably, after the
violent exercise. Mary let down the fiddle.
" Mary, will you play some of them slow tunes your father
used to play, till the young lady hears them ? " Mickey requested her.
With a smile she raised the yellow fiddle to her chin again,
and played some of the simple old airs in a way I had never heard
before. I listened with ddight. The wailing airs came out clear
and sweet, unadorned and bald in their simplicity. Then she
branched off into a melody that was different ; little rollicking notes
chased each other, the music rang out gay like laughter. It struck
me with a wonderful familiarity. Then I remembered suddenly
J
1915] THE FIDDLER 759
I had heard it a fortnight before in a crowded hall, where a great
violinist had played his own compositions to an enthusiastic audience.
I went towards her. ** Where did you hear that?" I asked
her when she had finished. " I heard a great man phy that. He
composed it himself."
She looked at me in surprise. " My father made that tune
himself. Twas him I learned it from."
" I heard it played quite recently by a great violinist, Paul
CyDonnell."
" Paul ! " Her face became transfigured. " Have you seen
Paul, our Paul, Paul O'Donnell ? Is he a great fiddler? "
" Och," cried Mickey Flynn, " can it be Paul CDonnell the
lady manes? The gossoon that used to lade your father around;
the gossoon the gentleman took away ? "
Marjr's eyes were fastened on my face. "Aye, it's Paul," she
said. " No other. Who else would it be? "
" This gentleman," I said in amazement, " is a great musician ;
he plays and composes himself."
" Och, it's surely the same Paul O'Donndl," said Mickey.
" He used to lade ould Owen Brady about the country. He was
the son of a neighbor, he explained to me, and all his people
were dead, so Owen Brady took him round with him because he had
a hankerin' after the fiddle. He was with him for years, till he
was a grown lad of twenty. Then a gentleman, who was stoppin*
at the castle, heard him play, and he took him away with him to
get him trained. He said he would be great. Aye, it's surely the
same Paul. He used to have the clothes off his back tore climbin'
trees and stalin' apples. And ye say he's a great man now ? "
A curious group had gathered around. I remembered hearing
that the great violinist had been a peasant lad from a western
village.
" Yes, he's a great man," I answered, " and it must be the
same Paul."
Mary's face was all illumined. Soon the dancing began again,
and she plied the bow merrily, but her eyes seldom left my face.
The " spree " broke up early, and when I rose to take my steps
home towards the cottage where I was stopping, Mary rose eagerly
too.
" I will lave you home," she said, " I'm goin' that way, and
though it's moonlight, ye might be lonesome by yerself."
She carefully put the fiddle under her shawl, and we walked
away together.
76o THE FIDDLER [Sept.,
It was more to herself than to me she said at last : " Paul
will soon be comin' home now. Is he a great fiddler?" she asked me.
" One of the greatest in the world."
The smile deepened in her eyes. " Yes," she went on, " the
gentleman said he would be a great fiddler. Paul was always a great
fiddler. Even my father said that, and it's more nor he ever said
of me, though he taught us both together. Paul's a long time
gone now, eighteen years next month, but the gentleman told us he
would be a long time away. He said he would have to go out to
foreign parts to study. But Paul said no matter how long he'd
have to stay away, he'd come back in the end."
" He said he would come back? " I guessed what was coming
next.
" Yes, them were his last words when I left him at the train.
Paul and me were goin' to be married before he went away, though
no one knew it but ourselves." When the gentleman came and
coaxed him away, Paul wanted to marry me before he'd go; but
the gentleman said it would be better to wait till he'd come back."
She laughed a little. " Paul was afraid I'd marry some of the
other boys while he was away. I'll have to whitewash the house
to-morrow. He might come any day now."
I felt a choking sensation in my throat. Before my eyes there
rose the vision of Paul O'Donnell, courted, flattered, lionized by
fashionable society. Then I looked at the woman before me, with
the freckled face, the strong frame, the toil-hardened hands. To
her Paul O'Donnell was still the ragged boy who had wooed her
eighteen years before; to her simple soul he remained the same.
I walked on beside her in silence till we came to her cottage.
I went in with her. She hung up the fiddle and looked around the
kitchen with a smile on her face. " I will begin the whitewashing
early in the morning," she said, as if to herself. Then she accom-
panied me over to the cottage I had rented for the summer.
When I entered I found a letter awaiting me. I felt as if I
were about to watch the unveiling of a tragedy as I read : " You'll
have Paul O'Donnell, the violinist, quite close to you. Will Blake,
whose place is near the village where you are, tells me he is going
over to stop with him for a rest, as his health is broken down.
It appears that Mr. O'Donnell was born somewhere in that neigh-
borhood."
A few days afterwards I was going down the mountain path,
when the strains of a fiddle borne to me on the evening breeze drew
me towards Mary's cottage. I passed in. Mary was seated on a
1915] THE FIDDLER 761
low stool playing away. When I entered she rose and came towards
me, her face pale, the pupils of her eyes large and shining.
" Paul has come," she said.
" Yes."
" I saw him ; he did not see me. He was driving from the
station with Master Will to the Castle. He's a grand gentleman ;
but sure enough, it's Paul. Lanty O'Brien showed me the paper
yesterday where it said Paul was coming to stop with Master Will."
Her voice was anxious; there was a beseeching note in it as she
said, " He will come soon now," as if she was seeking assurance
from me.
" He's ill," I said lamely. " He may not be able to come to you
yet." Her shining eyes seemed to pierce my soul.
" Yes," she said, " he was very white and all muffled up. He
looked as if he was in a decline — Paul that used to be so strong."
Almost a week went by. The weather and my work had kept
me indoors. Then one day, passing the Castle gate-house, I saw
Paul O'Donnell, looking very white and thin, walking slowly down
the avenue leaning on the arm of the daughter of the house. Their
laughter reached me as I passed. With a dim foreboding I crossed
to Mary's cottage in the evening. The door was closed and no
smoke rose from the chimney. I raised the latch and entered.
Mary was sitting on a low stool near the empty hearth, her head
bent on her hands. She was not conscious of my entrance until
I went up to her and laid my hand on her shoulder. Then she
turned her face up to me. It was white and drawn ; her eyes had
a strange look. I knew that from the dream she had dreamed for
eighteen years, she had at last awakened.
"Did he come?" .
Her answer came in slow, disconnected phrases.
" He did not come. He sent for me to-day. I went to the
Castle. He was there with Miss Maud and Master Will. He was
a grand gentleman — a grand gentleman. Paul become a grand
gentleman. He was glad to see me. He said, only he was sick,
he'd have come up to see me to the house. He talked of old times,
and laughed and joked, and asked me why I never got married.
He didn't remember. Then he asked me to wish him and Miss
Maud luck, because they were, they were — "
I felt a blinding rush of tears to my eyes. I looked at the neat
black dress, the little ribbon at the throat, at the stiff red hair that
had been sleeked back over her head. Then my eyes wandered to
the newly whitewashed walls.
762 THE TEST [Sept.,
She had dreamed her love-dream in her little mountain home
for eighteen years. It had grown on her, and in the great simplicity
of her soul she had never doubted the fulfillment. This was her
awakening. After a while I left her alone. Wlien I returned to
the city a few days later, I felt that X had learned a great deal in
that little village between the mountains and the sea.
THE TEST.
BY KATHARINE TYNAN.
LovE has moods: and I am cold.
Very cold ofttimes to Thee;
Fain to slip from Thy dear hold
To my follies and be free.
Yet I love: Thou knowest all.
I am Thine in heat and chill;
Thou, Thou hast my heart in thrall.
All my life and all my will.
Thou, Immortal Lover, sure
Knowest the way that lovers have,
Now so cold, afraid, unsure.
Now afire with love, and brave.
If I loved less it might be
That the way was smoother, less
Of the heavenly joys for me
And the cast-down bitterness.
I am cold — be that Love's proof ! —
And I bum — the proof again! —
I would not be smooth but rough.
Lest the smoother love should wane.
Give me earth or Heaven — and yet
If it is Love's test to swing
'Twixt the earth and Heaven set—
I — I ask no other thing.
A GR£AT BIBLICAL SCHOLAR.
(ABB^ VIGOUROUX.)
BY WILLIAM P. H. KITCHIN, PH.D.
|N February 21, 1915, there passed away in Paris one
of the most learned members of the Company of St.
Sulpice, Monsieur F. Vigouroux, a priest who for
fifty years had directed Catholic Biblical studies, and
who, since 1913, had been Secretary to the Pontifical
Biblical Commission.
Bom in 1837 in the little township of Nant, Abbe Vigouroux,
on the completion of his clerical studies, became a Sulpician, and
received as first post the duty of teaching philosophy at the Seminary
of Autun. Two years later, in 1864, he was appointed professor
at Issy in the suburbs of Paris, where the philosophy course is given
preparatory to theology at St. Sulpice (Paris), and where, too, the
Sulpician novitiate La Solitude is situated. He taught philosophy
until 1868, when he was appointed Professor of Scripture at the
Paris Seminary in succession to M. Le Hir, the favorite teacher of
Renan, lately deceased. Although Abbe Vigouroux had no special
taste or aptitude for philosophy, he recognized that its study had
been most useful to him for apologetic work in Scripture, since the
errors of non-Catholics most frequently have their root in false
systems of philosophy or defective reasoning processes. " The true
source,'* he says somewhere, " of the difficulties urged against Scrip-
ture is, to speak accurately, not historical criticism, but a false
system of philosophy which is condemned by right reason."
Appointed at the early age of thirty-one to present the Grand
Cotirs of Scripture and Hebrew in the chief academy of his Congre-
gation, he almost immediately made his mark in the learned world.
His memory was prodigious, his power of work inexhaustible, and
his facility in acquiring languages, particularly Eastern languages,
nothing short of marvelous. Like all Sulpicians he was extremely
economical of his time. On his study door was an enameled plate
bearing the words, " Knock and come in without waiting for an
answer." On entering you saw him bending over his desk writing
or verifying references. He never raised his head until you stood
beside him; then he looked up quickly, and gave you a ready wel-
come. It was this rigid economy of time, this utilizing and turning
764 A GREAT BIBLICAL SCHOLAR [Sept.,
to account every stray moment, which enabled him to compose so
many and such valuable works on the Holy Scriptures. His Manuel
Biblique, ou Cours d'£critnre Sainfe a r Usage dcs Seminaires
has been in the hands of seminarians throughout the Catholic world
for the past thirty-five years, and has been translated into Spanish,
Italian and Russian. Of the four volumes constituting the entire
work, only the first two are his; the latter two, dealing with the
New Testament, being due to his colleague. Abbe Bacuez, to whom
he was also indebted for the original idea of the manual. Abbe
Bacuez, for many years Vice-President of the Paris Seminary, was
an ascetic writer of uncommon merit and unction, as abundantly
proved by his beautiful treatises on the Divine Office and the Mass;
Professor also of Scripture, he had long deplored the want of a
proper textbook for clerical students. At last, after much hesitation,
he undertook to fill the void himself, but feeling unequal to complete
the task unaided, he asked his younger confrere to treat the prelimi-
nary questions and the problems of the Old Testament, while he re-
served for himself the explanation of the New. M. Vigouroux's
two volumes first appeared in 1879, and had an immediate success;
they have now reached their thirteenth edition, and something like
sixty-seven thousand copies have been sold. This success will seem
all the more surprising when it is remembered how very small is
the circle of readers to whom such publications appeal. In the
course of the author's long life, this is the only textbook he ever
wrote; all his other numerous publications were works of erudition.
Thus in 1891 he undertook to produce a Dictionary of the
Bible. His aim was that it should be " Catholic and at the same
time scientific " — ^perfectly able to hold its own with works like
Smith's or Hasting's Dictionary, but thoroughly in accord with
Catholic sentiment and the teachings of our holy Faith. He sur-
rounded himself with numerous co-workers, but he was the main-
spring of the enterprise, and he revised and criticized all their
contributions. " Each collaborator," says Abbe Pillion, " after
writing his article, sent it to M. Vigouroux, who, armed with his red
pencil, read it attentively, pruned down its excesses, corrected its im-
perfections, added bibliographical and other indications, took some-
times the trouble to improve the style, and sent the manuscript to the
printer. He then revised the first proof after it had been corrected
by the author, sometimes a second, sometimes even a third if he
thought it necessary." When one recollects that the Dictionary
consists of five enormous quarto volumes, one can form some dim
1915] A GREAT BIBLICAL SCHOLAR 765
idea of the labor involved in reading the proofs of each successive
article two and three times. This colossal monument of Catholic
erudition took twenty years in the building (1891-1912) ; and when
completed the master-workman's feelings must have been somewhat
akin to Cardinal Ximenes' on the successful termination of his great
polyglot Bible. Leo XIII. honored this work with a special brief
of commendation, in which the PontiflF extols the rare learning of
the author, " his keen critical acumen, tempered with moderation,
and his filial submission to the teachings of the Church."
But this work, vast and absorbing as it was, was far from ex-
hausting the activities of the indefatigable Sulpician. For many
years he had noted the lack of a polyglot Bible, convenient in size,
reasonable in price, and of Catholic provenance. The great poly-
glots of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were all enormous
tomes, and so expensive as to be beyond the means of all but the
wealthiest. Seminarians and young priests could never dream of
buying them; while the more modern polyglots were, without ex-
ception, the compilation of non-Catholic editors. Abbe Vigouroux
undertook to supply the deficiency by publishing a new polyglot, not
for specialists, but for serious students, whose studies would be
enormously helped by having several versions in juxtaposition in a
handy form and at a reasonable price. This work appeared at
Paris between 1900- 1909, and sold for the very moderate price of
thirty dollars. It contains in four parallel columns the Hebrew
text (in a beautifully clear and bold impression), the Greek Sep-
tuagint, the Vulgate, and the French translation of Abbe Glaire.
Short but substantial footnotes, numerous illustrations, and several
maps and plans add enormously to the interest and value of the
work. In short these eight volumes are a veritable Scriptural
library, and they bring within easy reach of all what, previously, was
utterly inaccessible. " In putting," says Monsignor Mignot in his
preface to the first volume, " his polyglot into the hands of sem-
inarians, M. Vigouroux does not expect to transform them all into
Hebrew and Greek scholars of the first water; he knows that
specialists of real weight and authority are rare everywhere. He
wishes particularly to raise the level of Biblical studies in seminaries,
and to furnish those gifted with special aptitudes the means of in-
creasing their knowledge and competence."
" Having used the polyglot for several years, I may be per-
mitted to venture a personal opinion concerning it. It is worth, in
my judgment, its weight in gold, but contains, nevertheless, two no-
766 A GREAT BIBLICAL SCHOLAR [Sept.,
table flaws. The Gredc type is both too small and too fine; more
especially is this tnie of the variant readings, a prolonged con-
sideration of which is most trying. When one turns from the poly-
glot to the magnificent publications in Porson type of Swete or West-
cott, the relief is instantaneous, and one is forced to recognize that
there is in the fomter a desideratimi — ^a want that becomes every
day more apparent to ageing and failing eyesight Again, I would
have replaced the French version of Glaire, which is of no par-
ticular value to students, by a literal Latin translation of the Hebrew
text. Such a translation would have helped learners enormously in
the acquisition of Hebrew, and coming directly vis-iL-vis the Vulgate
would have permitted them to seize at a glance the differences be-
tween the two. This objection, however, has been forestalled by M.
Vigouroux himself, who says that such a proceeding would have in-
creased beyond reasonable bounds the price of his polyglot This
work,' he adds, 'will help, we hope, to form savants; but it could
not, without completely changing its nature, furnish them with all
the materials they will need later, and which they must then seek in
special publications.' "
Perhaps the most erudite and the most admirable production of
the veteran scholar's brain and pen is La Bible et les DScouvertes
Modernes en Palestine, en £gypte et en Assyrie, with its companion
volume on the New Testament, Le Nouveau Testament et les De-
couvertes Archeologiques Modernes; the former, in four volumes,
with maps and plans, reached a sixth edition in 1896; of the latter,
a one-volume book, only two editions have hitherto been published.
The object of this work is to show that the discoveries made dur-
ing the past hundred years in the East, the buried cities, the ruins,
the coins, the inscriptions, even the domestic and homely objects
brought to light by explorers, prove in the most unexpected yet
peremptory manner the absolute veracity and exactness of the Bible.
This theme was peculiarly suited to the genius and mind-teitiper of
M. Vigouroux; his extraordinary learning had, so to speak, ade-
quate space to manoeuvre to advantage ; while his extensive travels
in the East, and exact knowledge of the places described in situ,
made him a most entertaining and competent cicerone. All these
volumes have been translated into German.
During the long years M. Vigouroux taught at St. Sulpice, one
of his most important duties was to expose the false theories of ra-
tionalistic commentators to his pupils, and to furnish them with an
adequate refutation of the same. His notes and lectures, fed by
1915] ^ GREAT BIBLICAL SCHOLAR 767
incessant reading and research, increased yearly in bulk and value,
and his pupils were anxious to possess them in more permanent form
than the merely viva voce delivery of the class-room. About 1885,
he began to give these precious lessons to the world under the title,
Les Livres Saints et la Critique Rationalist e. The work consisted
of five volumes, and reached its fifth edition in 1902. In the first
two volumes he exposes the false systems and objections of atheists,
rationalists and agnostics from the very earliest times of the Church,
the days of Celsus and Porphyry, down to those of Ewald and
Renan. In the three last volumes these false systems are refuted
in detail. He concludes : " The revelation contained in the Bible
is invulnerable; it is the work of God, which nothing can destroy
or overturn ; against it the united eflforts of human passions will ever
strive in vain ; it has always resisted, and will always resist, the as-
saults of enemies; it will triumph over all their attacks.'* M.
Vigouroux's work does not reach beyond the middle of the nine-
teenth century ; in the midst of his many occupations he was unable
to find time to expose and refute the later offshoots of German ra-
tionalism in its dissolving speculations on the word of God. But
this lacima has been admirably filled by the book of his colleague,
M. Pillion, entitled £tapes dti Rationalisme dans ses Attaques contre
les £vangiles et la Vie de Notre Seigneur.
It was in 1897 that I first saw M. Vigouroux, a few days
after entering the Seminary of Issy. I well remember that a
comrade pointed him out to me as " the most learned of the
Sulpicians, and indeed one of the greatest scholars in Europe."
Extremely young and impressionaWe then, I gazed on him with
respectful astonishment; to me he was the wonder-worker who
had written the Manuel Biblique, which had just been put
into my hands, and which, with its teeming footnotes in half a
dozen languages, I despaired of ever mastering. At that time
he was just sixty years of age; a low-sized man with a
red face and plump figure; his blue eyes were mild and faded,
and they looked out on the world with a sort of gentle astonish-
ment through thick spectacles; he invariably wore a small black
skull-cap, and gray wisps of hair straggled from under it. His
soutane and camail (the deep tippet French priests wear) were
shabby, and not immaculately clean. His whole appearance was
commonplace and entirely unmagnetic, and you would have sworn
that he was a village pastor, who never read anything beyond
his breviary and current works of piety. He was also a very
768 A GREAT BIBLICAL SCHOLAR [Sept.,
silent man, speaking little even among his Sulpician brethren.
He preferred solitary reverie, pacing slowly through the mag-
nificent shady alleys of Issy's park. Every Wednesday through-
out the year the students of St. Sulpice enjoyed a holiday at
Issy, which served as a country house to the Paris Seminary.
On these occasions no less than five hundred young people as-
sembled together, and as we were very boisterous, and the rule was
suspended for the afternoon, pandemonium generally reigned.
But the noise and games and chattering did not seem to disturb
the savant; he merely shrugged his shoulders with truly Gallic
nonchalance, buried himself in his erudite meditations, and thought
out new schemes of scholarship.
Dinner both at the Paris and the Issy house was always
served at noon. The meal and the subsequent visit to the Blessed
Sacrament terminated about a quarter to one, and immediately
after M. Vigouroux wended his way on foot to the Bibliothique
Nationale, the largest library in the world, where the almost
incredible number of three million volumes is gathered together.
He used to remain there until four or five in the evening, and
in this vast arsenal he found the innumerable books in ancient and
modern languages necessary for the prosecution of his scholarly
labors. Up to 1890 he taught at St. Sulpice; then he was ap-
pointed Professor of Exegesis at the Institut Catholique, where he
remained twelve years. In class he had one curious and characteris-
tic gesture. If a student proposed an objection, before answering he
invariably laid his index finger against the side of his nose, and
rubbed the olfactory member reflectively! In 1903, Leo XIII., who
admired him greatly, summoned him to Rome to act as Secretary
to the Biblical Commission which the Pontiff had just estaWished.
When in Rome he resided at the Procure de St. Sulpice, which is
almost next door to the Canadian College on the Via Quattro
Foniane, The summer months from June till October he still
spent in Paris, presiding over the various publications he was
interested in, and frequenting the Bibliothique Nationale as
of old. During the years of his secretaryship the Biblical Com-
mission handed down thirteen important decisions, warning Cath-
olics against certain modernistic errors, and indicating the paths
they might follow in perfect safety. In March, 191 3, just a
few months after completing the Dictionary of the Bible, he
experienced a heavy stroke of paralysis, which rendered useless
all the right side. At his age cure was out of the question, but
1915] A GREAT BIBLICAL SCHOLAR 769
the unremitting care of loving friends succeeded in prolonging
his life for more than a year. His greatest trial was his in-
ability to say Mass; but he kept intact all his rich mental gifts,
and spent his days in prayer, varied now and then by a little
reading. The end came on February 21, 191 5, when he passed
to his reward.
Abbe Vigouroux was a perfect pattern of the Catholic
scholar. His erudition and attainments were really profound, and
daily increased by imremitting reading; he neglected no trouble,
no research, no study, no matter how arid or prolonged, to get
at the root of a question. Every day, every hour of his existence
was laborious, employed unstintingly in the quest for truth. He
was as modest and unassuming as he was learned. Some scholars,
and not a few who are anything but scholars, adopt so readily
the attitude of Court of Final Appeal ! They aflFect to believe that
their opinion is infallible, and their ipse dixit an adequate answer
to every question. He never dogmatized; he never strove to
force his views on others, and wherever the Church left her chil-
dren full freedom, he thought it vain and improper for individuals
to attempt to curtail it. In his work there was no trace of self; his
device and motto was Matri Ecclesice. When little more than a
boy, he vowed his life to explaining and defending Catholic truth,
and no thought of gain or personal advantage ever sullied the
virginal austerity of that youthful immolation. Though blessed
with such astonishing success, the trusted adviser of two great
Popes, to whose presence he always had ready access, he never
dreamed of seeking, even indirectly, honors for himself. He re-
mained to the last the humble, retiring Sulpician priest, anxious to
promote the Church's interests, eager to help others, ever ready to
put his knowledge and gifts at the disposal of confreres and pupils.
In the ecclesiastical world of Paris, where savants abound, he
was revered as an oracle, and numerous visitors approached him
every day to obtain his opinion and advice on exegesis and delicate
problems of Scriptural and textual criticism. He who sought
nothing for himself, frequently, both in Paris and Rome, obtained
favors for others; and more than one personality in the world
of letters to-day owes his advancement to the recommendation
of M. Vigouroux. His learned works will long preserve his
memory green, and will transmit to future generations, together
with his knowledge, his love and veneration for the inspired Word
of God.
THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY.
(Taken from the version made from original MSS. by Mary A. Hutton,)
BY EMILY HICKEY.
IV.
Of the dejection of Cncnllin, zveary and wounded sore. — Of the hon
voc wrought by Maevs foray, — Of her capture and driving of
the Donn of Coolney, — Of the coming to Cucullin of Lugh,
his father, of the Thooaha dae Danann, and of his healing, — Of
his contortion, — Of the Bressla More. — Of the combat with
Fergus. — Of the fleeing before Fergus, with the promise of
Fergus to flee before him at the last great battle of the Tain. —
Of the coming of nine-and-twenty against Cu<:ullin.
GREAT dejection comes over Cucullin. Sore
wearied and sharply anguished by his wounds, he
sends Laeg, his charioteer, with a message to Conor
praying him to come and help him in his sorrow-
ful plight. He is alone, in evil, greatly wounded,
i'riendless, except for his charioteer. " Were but a few to arrive,
we still might fight. There is not music in one horn alone; but
from a number of horns of differing sound you get sweet music.
You get no flaming from one single stick, but two or three
will cause the torch to flame."
But the appeal to Conor to '* come forth with his ranged hosts "
was useless, for the words of Laeg were as a warning to the dead.
Not yet might Ulster rise from its Kesh.
Maev's foray is carried on, her joyful triumph is great, now
that Cucullin is lying low, with the dressings of healing upon
his wounds. She fires the lands, and does immeasurable ill, taking
captive lads and women, horses, cattle, raiment, silver and gold.
She burns down the great houses and levels the high fortified green
mounds. She dare not go to Avvin Maha, nor to any doon of the
Ulster warriors lying in their Kesh; for were anyone to wound a
warrior in that Kesh, the Kesh would leap straight to the wounder.
When Cucullin, feeble as he was, rose from his low bed of sick-
ness on Laeg*s return and went forth to fend his land of Coolney, he
saw something that was to him the veriest shame and insult; even
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 771
the Donn of Coolney with fifty of his heifers, running, and being
driven by the men who had taken him. Cucullin slew the chief man
of them, but the Donn of Coolney was driven to the camp of Maev.
And to Cucullin this was the worst dishonor and baffling that was
put upon him on the Tarn.
Cucullin, from his post on a high green grave-hill, looked out
and saw the fiery shining of the foemen's gold lance-heads and other
weapons, and seeing the great number of his enemies, and knowing
his wounds unhealed and his weakness, was overborne by rage and
anger. He shook his shield and brandished his spears and whirled
his sword, and sent out his terrible hero-cry, and the Bananahs and
the Bocanahs and the Glen-Folk and spirits of the air answered him
for the horror of that cry. And the war-goddess went through the
hosts, and there was a mighty trembling and many men died of that
horror.
The Bressla More of Cucullin, the great breaking of the foe,
was now to come ; the last of his single-handed exploits. But the
hero, wounded and weak, in anguish of body and mind, must be
prepared for the fresh great feat. There came to him one fair and
tan and noble, with a face shining glorious as the sun, splendidly
clad, and armed as a warrior. Laeg the charioteer watches him as,
unsaluted and unsaluting, he comes through the foemen's camp, in-
visible to them. The glorious warrior comes to Cucullin with praise
of his manly prowess: to which the young man replies in the spirit
of virile modesty, " It was not much ! "
It is his father, of the Dae Danann who, himdreds of years be-
fore, had led his hosts to the dread battle wherein the Fomorians
had been worsted and slain. The warrior sings his low rich faer-
dordV which brings deep sleep to his son, and healing herbs are
laid upon the sore wounds, with powerful incantations of speedy
curing, so that Cucullin grew whole again in that sleep, and the
great warrior from the Shee-mound kept watch over him all the
three days and nights of that magic slumber of healing.
The young lads of Ulster, Cucullin's comrades, were grieved
to think of their comrade's plight, alone and unhelped, and a third
part of them went forth to Moy Mweerhevna. Al-yill sees the
band, the fresh troop of the young Ulster children come to help
Cucullin. " Let a troop go out," he says, " without Cucullin's
knowledge and destroy them: for if they meet him, ye will not
resist him." The Ulster boys approach the hosts and thrice attack
^Probably^ a deep bass crooning to induce sleep.
^^2 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Sept.,
them with their " childish playing-clubs," slaying thrice their own
number ; until at last the little lads are overpowered and fall.
Cucullin's deep swoon was broken by the spell of awakening
sung over him by the warrior from the Shee; for his wounds were
cleansed and he was whole again. At the call he arises with
" strength and freshness in his spirit ! " He learns from Lugh the
fate of his young comrades, and a great cry of passionate sorrow
breaks from him. He begs of Lugh to remain with him, that to-
gether they may avenge the Ulster lads. But he is to go alone,
though helped by invisible might against those who shall have no
power upon his life.
Lugh gives him the " Covering of Concealment," sent him by
Mannanawn, goes forth from him and is seen no more.
Now for the scythed chariot and the warrior's gear ! Swords,
spears and darts he takes, of each light, small ones, with one great
one, deedful and dreadful. Eight shields he has, with one curved
black-red shield of strength and largeness; and he wears a noble
crested helmet, out of each angle whereof a cry would be cried
forth like the battle-cry of a hundred warriors : for the Bananahs
and Bocanahs, and Demons of the air, and the Glen-Folk, cried be-
fore it and around it when the blood of warriors would shower
swiftly past it.
Now upon CucuUin came that strange thing wheref rom he was
named the Ree-astartha, the Contorted One. In this he became a
man of many shapes, strange and awful; his frame trembled and
was troubled around him, and frame and visage alike were horribly
twisted and contorted. No longer in appearance the fair adolescent
youth, he was terrible to conceive of, and yet more terrible to see.
When the time of the contortion was over he leaped upon his awful
scythed chariot, the iron wheels plowing the ground, making a
Bive's circuit, as of the War-goddess. The men of the Four Fifths
of Erin might not scatter nor flee before him until he had avenged
the Ulster lads. Terrible slaughter he works on the foe. It is
the Shessra of the Bressla More, the sixfold slaughter of the Great
Destroying; uncounted slaughter of the folk of little reckoning,
and the mowing down of many chiefs. Cucullin goes forth with no
reddening on himself or his gillie or his steeds. He shows his fair
form splendid in its comeliness, to the hosts who had seen the dread
Druidic form which he had worn at night : and the hosts wonder at
the glory and the beauty of him.
Maev was sore troubled to find a champion whom she could, by
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY TJi
gifts or blame, prevail upon to go forth and slay the Hound. She
fixes on four, of whom Fergus is one. The terms of the single
combat are renewed, and Maev beseeches the men of Erin to go
forth, and beseeches them in vain. She implores Fergus to meet
CucuUin in combat, calling to his mind the shame and dishonor
brought upon him by Conor, and the immense kindness which he has
received from her and Al-yill: she taunts him with shirking the
peril of battle and fearing to meet the Ree-astartha. Fergus hears
her in silence and goes back to a sleepless night. " His debt and
bond to Maev were heavy on him and oppressed him! And it
seemed bitter to him so to be dependent on that queen." The
thought of his foster son brings heavy tears, and his servants dare
not try to console him or counsel him.
At earliest dawn he goes to the ford, and CucuUin meets him;
and on either side there is joylessness. The scabbard that Fergus
wears is swordless; CucuUin sees this, and Fergus says:
" It is indifferent to me, O my pupil :
For even if my sword were here with me,
It should not reach thee If I would ply it
On thee, my pupil, he who has that sword
Would yield it to me gladly."
For Al-yill has taken the sword, and Fergus has not reclaimed it.
" O my pupil ! O my knee- foster child ! Will a wild doe make
war oh her own fawn ? Or will a brother make war on his young
brother ? Or shall I make war on my own pupil ?"
What he asks of CucuUin, adjuring him by the nurture and
training that he has given him, is that in the sight of the hosts of
Erin, the Hound should flee before him. It is a hard request; but
it is granted ; Fergus promising that in the last great battle of the
Tain if Cucullin is wounded and shall bid Fergus to flee before him,
Fergus shall obey. Cucullin goes, as in flight and defeat, and Fer-
gus turns back, for he can bear no more, and when Maev calls to
him to follow Cucullin and not let him escape, he laughs savagely
and refuses.
The next combat was one shamefully unjust as well as un-
chivalrous. Maev's counsel, agreed with by kings and chiefs, was
to send for Calateen of deadly arts; with his seven-and-twenty
sons and his g^randson, each of them bearing poison and poisoned
weapons that had but to " redden " and cause death. And none
of these men ever aimed falsely or cast an erring cast. It was
774 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Sept.,
needful that this should be confirmed in the presence 6i Fergus, and
he could not dispute it; for the ground taken was that Calateen,
his sons and grandson were but one man ! " His sons were merely
limbs of his own limbs, and parts of his own parts, and it was right
that Calateen should have the host and fullness of his own body."
The nine-and-twenty unswerving darts are sent forth and
plunge to the middle in the battle shield of Cucullin. While he is
lopping and hewing the darts with his sword, for the unloading of
his shield, the men approach him, placing their right hands upon
him to force him down to the sand and gravel. The great sigh that
could be heard of all unsleeping men of Ulster went forth from
Cucullin, and the men pressed him down till his face touched the
sand and gravel of the ford. Feeaha, Conor's son, one of the troop
of Ulster exiles, had come down to watch the combat and " there
came on him his thong and tie of Ulster love and friendship," and
with one sweeping blow of his sword he struck off the right hands
of the foemen, and the men fell back. And promising that never
should the blow struck by Feeaha be known, for its knowledge
would be death-bringing, Cucullin slays the nine-and-twenty foes,
V.
Of the combat of Cucullin with Faerdeeah. — Of the craft of Mae%f
whereby that combat was fought, and of her sore deceiving of
Faerdeeah that she might make him break the bonds of love
and brotherhood'in-arms, — Of the four days* fight, after Cu-
cullin had essayed in vain to persuade Faerdeeah to refuse it, —
Of the death of Faerdeeah and the bitter sorrow of Cucullin,
It was Faerdeeah, the fellow-pupil, friend and brother-in-arms
of Cucullin, like him trained by the great woman-warrior, Scawtha,
whom Maev's counsellors fixed on to meet Cucullin at the ford.
Taught by the one teacher, their modes of fight were alike; only that
Cucullin owned the art of the Gae Bulg, the spear that brought de-
stroying; and Faerdeeah owned a conganess, a tough, protecting ar-
mor, not easily to be pierced by edged weapon : both these were the
gifts of Scawtha. When the envoys are sent for Faerdeeah, he re-
fuses to come with them, well knowing the cause of their being sent,
" to make him fight in fierce encounter with his own dear friend, his
loved companion and brother-in-amis." Men of irony and calumny
are sent to bring him reproach, disgrace and contumely : their venom
would kill him, at least within a little space. So Faerdeeah comes
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 775
to Maev, " for he desired to fall in battle-glory, not by shafts of
coward ridicule/* But his resolve is never to combat with his
friend. He is brought to the feast, and Findabair, in obedience to
her mother, works for his ensnaring, as for that of others. She
brims his cup with wine from Gaul, and with each aip she gives him
three kisses. She carries him red apples, and tells him that, of all
the men of Erin, she w^ould choose him for her love. Then Maev
oflfers him great gifts and honor and Findabair to wife, if he will
meet'Cucullin and slay him at the ford of danger. Faerdeeah re-
fuses, and is again plied with wine, and it is urged upon him, that as
CucuUin fights for his native Ulster, even so should Faerdeeah fight
for Connaught.
Faerdeeah hearkens, and again refuses to fight his brother-in-
arms. Then Maev taimts him with lack of valor; and Faerdeeah
grows red and pale, for there was nothing so hard to him to bear
as " mockery and raillery and scorn." Yet he refuses again, and
again his horn is brimmed, and when he has drunk the Gaulish wine,
Maev deceives him with sneering words of her own invention which
she says Cucullin has spoken of him. The wrath of Faerdeeah rose
when the words of deception were spoken, and the wine wrought its
work upon him, and he believed that his prowess had been scorned of
Cucullin. So he swore to meet him, and Maev bound herself to ful-
fill her promises, in mighty bonds of six great princes, and called
in the " sun and the moon and stars and colors and the falling dew,"
that all these great powers should punish her if she should break her
word. And Faerdeeah bound himself in like manner to the combat
with Cucullin.
That night sorrow came upon Faerdeeah's people for thinking
how one of these two battle-breakers must fall, and how it would be
their own dear lord : for surely it would be a thing impossible that
Cucullin should be overthrown.
In the misty morning Faerdeeah awoke, and all that the wine
had wrought upon him had gone from him, and now he was
scourged and weighed upon by the trouble and the sorrow of the
combat he had vowed. Reaching the ford before sunrise, for he
cannot endure to wait, and not finding Cucullin, he says that Cucul-
lin, dreading his prowess, has abandoned the ford. His gillie tells
him that this is unkind and disloyal, and reminds him how, in the old
days, Cucullin had slain a hundred men in regaining for Faerdeeah
his battle-sword left with the enemy " o'er the edge-borders of the
Tyrrhene Sea ; " and how Cucullin had slain the churl steward who
776 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Sept.,
had struck Faerdeeah and flung him forth. Faerdeeah bids his
gillie to keep silence. It is now too late. Had he spoken thus last
night, notwithstanding the Croohan wine and the boasting of Cu-
cuUin (he believes Maev's falsehoods), he would not have come to
the combat. The gillie must desist, and spread the blankets and
skins of the chariot that he may rest and sleep ; for last night he
has not slept nor rested, because of the thought and the trouble
of the coming combat. And so Faerdeeah sleeps. Now Cucullin
would not rise till full daylight, lest the foe might say that fear had
driven away his sleep from him. He comes down in his chariot,
amid the shoutings of the Air- Spirits and the cries of his father's
folk, the Thooaha dae Danann.
The champions face each other, and Cucullin, in answer to
Faerdeeah's welcome, reminds him that the land is his, not Faer-
deeah's, and that the word of welcome were more fitly spoken by
him. He is here defending his own people and their wives and the
youth and little ones and flocks and herds, all that are left unslain
or uncaptured. Faerdeeah taunts him with having been his subor-
dinate when they were with Scawtha the warrioress. Cucullin re-
plies that it was thus because he was the younger. He bids Faer-
deeah to withdraw in time, or else his life shall end. Faerdeeah re-
plies in rage, and then Cucullin breaks into tender reproach and
entreaty.
" O my Faerdeeah, why didst thou listen to the fair-haired
queen? " He reminds him of the old friendship, and begs that its
bond may not be broken. " There is not in the world one at whose
best I would do ill to thee." There is a pause, and then Faerdeeah
says that it is too late. Cucullin gives him the choice of weapons
and they contend all day, except for a space of desisting, using the
little missive darts, weapons they had used at the game when they
were with Scawtha. At the fall of evening they cease and throw
the weapons to their charioteers, and each lays his arms around the
other's neck and kisses him with " three kisses, ardently and fer-
vently." That night their horses remain together in the one pad-
dock and their charioteers stay by the one fire; and the two com-
batants lie each on a bed of newly-gathered rushes ; and the folk of
cure and healing come to them and apply to their wounds herbs
of healing and of cure. And of all salves and healing things pro-
vided for CucuUin's wounds he sends half to Faerdeeah; and of all
the nourishing and inspiriting things brought to Faerdeeah; he
sends half " to freshen and delight and help Cucullin."
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 777
The combat goes on next day, Cucullin having the choice of
weapons ; and at evening they cease, and embrace each other and give
each other again the three fervent kisses.
And Cucullin says:
" Faerdeeah,
My loving heart is as one clot of blood;
Almost my spirit has departed from me
Let us withdraw from this and strive no more.
I have no heart or strength for feats of valor.
Fighting with thee, Faerdeeah, my dear friend."
But the bonds wherewith Faerdeeah has bound himself to Maev
are in his memory, and he replies:
" O Hound of Valor, Hound of Battle-triumph,
It is too late. We may not now draw back.
But one of us must fall, or both must fall
In contest at this ford. And well we know
What must be, must be."
Again they rest, and their horses and their charioteers are to-
gether, and the men of healing come and put powerful spells and
charms upon their grievous wounds, and again Cucullin and Faer-
deeah share all that is sent to each in spells and charms and pleasant
and inspiriting drink.
The third day's fight is fought with " heavy and hard-smiting
swords " from early morning till even fall ; and the champions part
" two sorrowful disheartened ones that night." And their steeds
are not that night in the one paddock; and their gillies do not lie
by one fire.
The fourth day, as Faerdeeah knew, must end the combat, and
one or both must fall. The fight of that last day was indeed " illus-
trious and awful," and after many hours the rage and battle-fury
seethed in their hearts, ** so that each knew no more that he was
fighting his friend and comrade; but each thought only of the strife
and combat ! "
In this fourth day's fight, Cucullin's Distortion came upon him,
and those who were watching the fight saw him as " some giant,
terrible, strange and discolored." After a long struggle, Faer-
deeah had for a little while the advantage, and the ford was red-
dened with Cucullin's blood. Then Cucullin could no longer re-
frain from using the weapon that would make conquest sure to him.
778 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Sept.,
and the Gae Bulg was cast as Facrdceah, piercing through all his
armor.
'* That is henceforth enough,
Hound of beautiful and wondrous feats.
1 fall by that."
The mists of death come over Faerdeeah, and Cucullin bears
him in his arms, and lays him on the ground. The battle- fury is past,
^and he bends over the dead body in " a thick cloud of famtness and
of pain." In vain Laeg, the charioteer, entreats his master to hasten
thence, and heal his wounds, and by and by have great exultant joy :
but the hero docs not heed him, but mourns over the beloved slain
comrade, sent against him, as he knows, by deceit and treachery.
" Oh, dear to me
Thy ruddy freshness, dear thy shapely form.
Thy pure blue eye and yellow-streaming hair,
Thy gifts of wisdom and of eloquence!
Oh, woe that thou shouldst die while I remain ! "^
It is the cry of the bereaved through all the ages of himianity
and in all its climes. The cry of the Ultonian warrior over his
friend rings as rings the cry of the warrior-poet of Israel over his
son, " Would God that I had died for thee! "
VI.
Of the desperate wounds of Cucullin, — Of his sending of Sooaltim
to Awin Maha to bid the Ulstermen come forth, — Of the wofe-
ing of Ulster from the Kesh, and the arising and the gathering
of the kings and chiefs, — Of the sounds afid sights in the ears
and eyes of MacRoth, and of their meaning, — Of the glory of
Conor, the High-Kitig, — Of the great cry of Cucullin, who is
bound down on his bed of healing, — Of the clashing together
of the two hosts.
There came from Ulster help and healing to Cucullin by the
hands of a few men who came to bathe his wounds ; for the invisi-
ble Thooaha dae Danann " were strowing plants and herbs of health
and healing " into the waters, and their green checkered each bright
stream. So he was helped, and his wounds were washed and freed
from venom before they were dressed, and so Cucullin's life was
kept within him. A little more, and he would have died of the
awful hurts of the combat with Faerdeeah.
I9IS.] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 779
The Ulster warriors were now beginning to rise from their
Kesh, and feats of arms were doing; though as yet the King and the
chiefs in Avvin Maha could not arise. Sooaltim, the reputed father
of Cucullin, comes to him in his lone forest-hiding, and wails above
him, seeing him full of wounds; and Cucullin entreats him to go to
Avvin Maha and tell the Ulstermen that now they must come after
their wives and babes and driven ones ; for he is imfit to guard them
any longer. He has faced the Four Fifths of Erin for many a moon,
and has slain many men of them ; and the Faith of Men has not been
kept with him. He is wounded in all his body. Let them come
now in their vengeance ; and come forthwith : or never will these
things be avenged " Until tlie Breast of Judgment and of Doom."
Sooaltim rode to Avvin Maha, bearing the warning to Ulster,
and finding no answer; for it was gass to speak before the King
should speak; and to the King it was gass to speak before his
Druids had spoken. Sooaltim's voice rose again : " In Ulster men
are slain ! O men of Ulster ! Women are carried captive ! Kine are
driven ! " Then Cathbad, the great Druid, spoke, yet spoke as one
who still was dreaming; and he asked who was slain, and who was
captiv^d, and who was driven! Sooaltim told him of the foray of
Maev and Al-yill, and all the loss and woe and mischief they had
wrought, and how Cucullin, all alone, had stayed and hindered the
great Fifths of Erin, and how they had broken the Faith of Men
with him ; and how he was lying crushed and broken and bleeding.
And Sooaltim called for vengeance because of these things. Conor
the King said that the words were true, and all the men in Avvin
spoke with one accord and said that the thing was true. And
Conor, after a little while, arose, and, yet as in a dream, spoke out
of the dullness and confusion of his Kesh, and vowed to bring back
every captured woman and each of the captured kine. Then Conor
sent messages to the great kings and princes and hero-<Jiief s ; and
they arose, and there was a great mustering and assembling.
There came visions that stirred the great leaders, men of Ulster
and men of Erin, and troubled them ; and they sang in words fore-
telling the mighty battle to be fought with reddening of the earth, at
morn, upon a day that was drawing very near. And that night
there was the seeing of spectres arid of loathly shapes in the daricness
and gloom.
The gathering of the Ulstermen was terrible and dread. Time
after time, MacRoth, the Connaught royal messenger, was sent forth
to the great wide plain of Meatli to look for traces of the coming
78o THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Sept..
of the men of Ulster. He heard a roaring as though the skj^ came
down upon the earth ; or the boundless sea overflowed the forehead
of the world; or that there were a mighty earthquake; or at least
the huge forest trees were falling, each on each. And he saw that
the wild beasts of the forest were fleeing forth, " so that the heath
and grass of the wide plain might not be seen beneath them."
When Maev asked Fergus the meaning of this, he told her that the
northern warriors, awoken from their Kesh, were hewing a chariot
road with sword and axe through the old forest ; and the wild beasts
were fleeing forth in fright and covering the plain.
MacRoth went forth again, and saw, as it were, a hovering, long,
gray mist ; and out of it rose great eminences, and great caves were
in the forefront, and at their openings wind-blown fair linen cloths,
or drifting fairy snow. And fluttering through the mist he seemed
to see strange birds of divers kinds; and then the mist appeared
spangled with sparks of fire or stars. And he heard a roar of
booming and crying, and shrill sharp snaps and thuds, ringings
and cheers.
Fergus tells how MacRoth has seen as a gray mist the fierce
breath of men and steeds; and the heads of kings and of mighty
men have appeared as it were little darkling heights ; the nostrils oi
men and of steeds, distended in deeply in-breathing the free air,
have appeared as dens and deep caverns, and the white foam and
froth flung from the bridle-bits of fiery steeds had seemed like
fairy snow, and the quick turves and sods shot from the hooves
of these steeds had been like unto varied flocks of birds. All the
mingled uproar was the loud shield-cry of the mighty shields, and
the hissing of spears and the ring of swords, and all the noise of
the weapons of a great full-armored host ; and above it all the cease-
less tread of the warriors marching forward with eyes that gleamed
beneath their helmets like sparks of fire or stars.
" And this I say to you.
There ne'er have been, and ne'er will be again
Men like to those Ultonian men for fury
And battle-anger and the rage of war,"
says Fergus; and to Maev's boast of the good youths and fighting-
men on her side, he replies that not in Erin nor in all the world may
there be found hosts to quell the Ultonians whose rage has been
aroused. Great men are told of in g^reat description: clad in
glorious raiment, armed with splendid armor, surrounded each by
^
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 781
his own household troop, the leaders stand forth. First and fore-
most, the special band of King Conor, who raise a mighty mound
for their lord to sit on as he waits for the full gathering of the
tribes. Conor is " tall and thinly built, courteous and proud, of
princeliest way and style, accustomed to command and to restrain,
and awful was his kingly gleaming eye. His yellow bush of crisped
drooping hair " and his trimly forked beard, as well as the crimson
fooan (mantle), the gold pin above the breast, and the layna, or
body-sark, of purest white, were all of princely mode. His white
shield bears the figures of monstrous beasts ; his sword has hilts of
gold, and he carries a wide gray spear. The kingly man takes discreet
advice from the wide-browed gentle Shenca, "who owns the sweetest
oratory and eloquence of all the men of Erin : he whose words of
eloquence and oratory calm the hosts of Ulster ; he who, with these
words, might calm the war and tumult of the world." Many and
many a band comes up to the Hill of Slane; and one band comes
with a clamor of grief, as bereaved men and orphaned. These are
the lion-like men of Moy Mweerhevna, and they are sorrowful in
their goings because they are bereft of their own young native
king, Cucullin of the red sword.
A grievous cry comes to MacRoth's ears, a cry not from amid
the hosts ; the cry of Cucullin who, striving to rise and share in the
fight, is being forcibly bound down upon his bed of healing by the
men of Ulster. Two poison-tongued staring she-satirists go forth
from the camp of the Four Fifths, and bewail beside Cucullin, crying
to him of the routing of Ulster and the slaying of Conor and of
Fergus.
The More-reega comes that night between the two camps, in-
citing the one against the other. She cries out how the raven shall
feast on the morrow ; how the blue-swathed bives shall scream, and
how memorable and feastful on the morrow will be the fields of
Gawrig and II Gawrig.
Cucullin is lying on his sick-bed on a high hill nook among the
whitening thorn bushes; he is held down so that he may not stir.
Throughout the night he has heard the blood-cries from the bitter
throat of the More-reega. At dawn he calls to Laeg, adjuring him
to tell him all that shall happen that day on either side.
Roused by the cry of Laeg, whom Cucullin has sent to bid them
rise, the men of Ulster, in obedience to their kings and chiefs and
princes, rise as one man, and rush from their tents unclad, with their
sharp-edged weapons in their hands. But, at Conor's bidding,
782 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Sept.,
Sbenca speaks the word of knowledge and wisdom which bids the
men to wait for the faring forth to battle until the sun, the omen and
strength of happy fortune, shall have risen.
Ere long the two hosts clash together in the combat.
VII.
Of the prowess of Fergus. — Of his blows upon the shield of Conor
and the moaning of the shield, — Of his turning away of his
battle-wrath from the King and from the Ulstermen. — Of his
three Strokes of Dread upon the hill-summits. — Of Cuctdlin's
breaking of his bonds and his coming in his terrible chariot,
at the moaning of the shield of his King, — Of his combat with
Fergus, and of the fleeing of Fergus before him, according to
his promise. — Of the defeat of Maev. — Of the end of the Find-
benna atid the Donn of Coolney.
Urged on by Maev's taunts of the loss of his great renown and
power, Fergus vows that his sword shall play upon the Ultonians;
he goes forth, and the great sword, the Calad-colg, clears a gap of a
hundred of the foe. And that sword sang upon the men of Ulster,
so that the battle was thrice routed toward the north before him;
until the men of Erin were driven back by the three great battle-
castles bristling with swords and spears. Then Conor spoke to his
household men, the inward heart of the Red Branch, and bade them
keep this place while he went to learn who had routed and driven
the battle. And as Conor went forth in the fight, the sword of
Fergus struck a shield. This was the 0-hazvn, Conor's great shield,
and Fergus struck three slaughter-blows against it ; and it moaned.
And at the moaning of the shield of Conor all the three waves of
Erin, Rury and Cleena and Thoo-ig Inver moaned in answer; and
all the shields of the Ulstermen moaned in answer to the moaning
of the shield of their King.
The hero-power and strength of the King maintained his shield
against Fergus, and Fergus marveled who it might be that could
hold his shield against him thus in the day of his vengeance.
With words of insult and injury and with threats, Conor pro-
claimed himself the High-King of Ulster.
Then Fergus, amid all his rage and battle-fury, remembered the
words he once had spoken, that even if Conor should betray him and
violate his honor and his safeguard (to tlie sons of Usna), he would
not seek to slay him, albeit none other man should beat him thus
without winning red death at his hands. And indeed, even had that
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 783
promise never been, it would have seemed to Fergus an evil thing
to seek to slay that King whom he had loved, the High-King of hfs
own dear land. He turned away his anger from Conor and turned
it against the Ulster hosts. He hurled back the Calad-cotg that he
might strike the three enchanted blows of death and judgment which
that sword, in a true warrior's hands, could strike, putting on the
curve and length and sheen of a rainbow. And after those three
blows, the dead among the Ulstermen should outnumber the living.
But Cormac, the exiled son of Conor, rushed to Fergus and clasped
him round and urged him to think of the honor of his native land,
even in the day of his vengeance, and not to slay the Ulstermen with
those three dread strokes. And at his entreaty Fergus turned his
sword sideways, and the three enchanted blows of doom struck away
the summits of the three Meath hills for an everlasting sign of shame
and reproach to Ulster.
Cucullin hears the moaning of Conor's shield. Who dares thus
to smite the shield of his dear guardian while yet Cucullin lives?
And Laeg, who is watching the battle, says it is the best of warriors,
Fergus, who has now got back his great Shee-sword, Cucullin can
no longer be restrained; unwillingly Laeg loosens his bonds, and
CucuHin leaps free from them, and blood streams anew from his
many wounds. None of his armor has been left with him ; only
his chariot is there. He goes forth in his chariot, striking and
felling the men of Erin until he comes to the place where Fergus is.
" Come hitherward, my master Fergus ! "
If Fergus will not come, he will grind him as a millstone grinds
barley-meat, will cleave him as an axe cleaves forest wood ; will bind
hfm fast; wmII be to him as the hawk to the helpless fledgling; will
cast him down as fishes are cast down upon the sand.
Who dares thus to speak to Fergus ? It is his foster son, be-
loved by all, who has fought for all ; and Fergus had promised that,
as Cucullin had fled before him once, so he, beholding him faint and
full of wounds in the last battle of the Tain, would in his turn flee
before Cucullin.
And Fergus, seeing his foster son bleeding and full of wounds,
and remembering his promise, fled before him with his war-troop,
the exiles who had with him left Ulster seven years before. The
seven Munster kings, beholding him as he broke forth from the
battle, broke forth likewise, each with his cantred.* So the hosts
of Connaught were left alone to fight against the hosts of Ulster.
'Some three thousand men?
784 THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Sept..
Maev heard how she was forsaken by guests and by allies, and a
blinding mist came over her eyes, so that she could not distinguish
between men and trees : nevertheless she fought on from midday till
the waning of light. At sunset the last of all the Connaught battle-
troops was driven out toward the west. And of the destroying-
chariot of Cucullin that had wrought such havoc among the men of
Erin there remained but shattered fragments. " Maev took up her
shield and put her shield of guarding and protection behind the hosts,
guarding their sad retreat." She sent off the captured Brown Bull
to Rath Croohan by a long circuit, so that her oath concerning his
arrival there should be kept, whosoever might reach Rath Croohan
or not. Weakness and weariness were upon the Queen, as she came
to the place where Fergus was, near the great ford ; and bitter was
her dejection after that hard defeat and the forsaking of Fergus.
She prayed of Fergus to put his shield of guarding and sure pro-
tection to guard the men of Erin while she rested; and though
warned by Fergus that it was an ill hour to rest in, she pressed her
suit, for she felt that she must either rest or die. As she took her
rest among some young trees, Cucullin came upon her, but he did not
slay her, for he deemed it were unworthy and dishonorable to slay
her thus. And when, in her waking, she saw Cucullin she craved
of him that he would take her vanquished hosts under his honor and
protection, that so they might cross the ford in safety. And Cucul-
lin granted the boon, for there was none like him in generosity and
the giving of gifts. And all that was left of the hosts of Erin
passed over the ford and came once more to Connaught.
The wonder-sword, the Croo-adeen, was brought to Cucullin,
and he struck three blows with it, striking their summits from the
three hills beside the ford, so that the stricken Maels of Connaught
might answer to the Maels of Ulster which Fergus had stricken
with his sword.
There was great bitterness in the heart of Fergus as he watched
the passing of the hosts, for thinking how no more should he do
hero-deeds or win great battles.
For he, thus severed from his native land
And from the folk and heroes whom he loved
Was like a spear-head parted from its shaft,
Deedless, of no avail.
The certainty was in him that he should die in exile and be buried
in a strange land. Roughly and bitterly he reproaches Maev. and
she, in her grief and anguish, hears him and makes no reply.
1915] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY 785
There was also woe in the camp of the victors, for CucuUin
was lying low because of his great wounds that had broken out
afresh; and Conor bent above his bed with lamenting and with
words of praise and love. Conor was heavy of heart for, though he
had the breaking of the great battle of Gawrig and II Gawrig, the
ravages of Maev had wrought vast ruin in his land, and she had
borne away the gold-horned Bull of Coolney.
After his long lying at healing, Cucullin donned his festal array
and went south " to take the maiden who, 'midst other maidens, was
as a sun 'midst pale, faint stars/' She had foretold his deeds and he
had done them ; and they were wedded and lived in love for the few
more years of Cucullin's life. For Cucullin died young in years and
great in glory.
When the Donn of Coolney saw the beautiful unknown land
spread out before him in greenness and beauty, he lifted up the
greatness of his voice : and the Findbenna heard him. Now there
was in Connaught no bull or male beast but had great fear of the
Findbenna, and dared not utter a sound that was not soft and
timorous. And so, at the sound of those bellowings, the Findbenna
came vehemently on to meet the Donn of Coolney. Very great and
dreadful was the combat of the Bulls in their rage and fury, and all
night long the men of Erin heard the storm and the roaring thereof.
At early dawn the Donn of Coolney came forth bearing on his horns
the mangled fragments of the Findbenna. Then the Donn of
Coolney roared three loud roars, and turned to go to his own land.
And when he saw the peaks of Coolney there came on him a
powerful mind and spirit, and he strove forward. He came where
the women and lads and children were bewailing the loss of him;
but blindness and rage came upon him, seeing he was sorely wounded
with many wounds ; and he came on them as a great storm comes,
and many of them were slain by their own Donn of Coolney. And
he lay down and the heart of him broke ; and thus when all this war
of the Tain had ended,
In his own land, 'midst his own hills, he died.
It must be understood that Mrs. Button's poem does not
represent either the version of the Book of Leinster or that of the
Book of the Brown Bull. Both of these are, she tells us, " from the
pure artistic point of view, unsatisfactory and incomplete." For
she has aimed at telling us the old story completely and in a manner
VOL. a.— 50
786
THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY [Sept..
to be fully understood ; allusions familiar of old would not now be
generally comprehensible ; stories touched upon would not be known.
Therefore, Mrs. Hutton has completed the narrative by working
into its texture a rather large amount of matter from other related
sources. She has also omitted all material that is irrevelant to her
conception or tedious in itself. She has given a list of the more im-
portant of the sources from which she has drawn the means of com-
pleting her narrative. But she has, of course, invented nothing.
She has given us a book beautiful and noble, in verse always
smooth-going, and often rising, not only into true poetry, but into
poetry of height and greatness.
Surely we owe her much.
Names.
Phoneiic,
Middle Irish.
Al-yill.
Athill.
Ath-Qeea.
Ath Cliath.
Awin Maha.
Emain Macha.
Bananahs.
Bananachs.
Bocanah.
Bocanach.
Bive.
Badb.
Caillin.
Caillin.
Calad-colg.
Caladcolg.
Calateen.
Calatin.
Cleena (Wave of).
Tond Chlidna.
Conor.
Conchobar.
Corinac
Cormac
Creev-Roe.
Craebruad.
Crithney.
Cniithnech.
Croo-adeen.
Cruadin.
Croohan.
Cniachan.
Cucullin.
Cuchulaind.
(Thooaha) dae Danann.
Tuatha De Danann.
Daerdra.
Derdrin.
Dawra.
D4ra.
Dectora.
Dechtire.
Donn of Coolney.
Dond Cualnge.
Edarcool.
Etarcumul.
Emer.
Emer.
Err.
Err.
Faerbay.
Fcr baelh.
Faerdccah.
Fer diad.
Fecaha.
Fiaclia.
tyiS.] THE STORY OF THE TAIN BO COOLNEY
787
Phonetic.
Fergus MacRoy.
Findabair.
Findbenna.
Middle Irish,
Fergus mac Roeich
Findabair.
Findbennach.
Gawrig.
Glass Crond.
Garech.
Glaiss Cruind.
Inn-yell.
Innell.
Laeg.
Lok.
Lowercam.
Loeg.
Loch.
Leborcham.
MacRoth.
Maev.
Maha.
Mannanawn.
More-reega.
Moy Mweerhevna.
MacRoth.
Medb.
Macha.
Mannanin.
In M6rr!gu.
Magh Muirthemne.
Nathcrantil.
Nathcrantail.
0-hawn.
in n-6ch4in.
Ree-astartha.
Rury (Wave of).
in riastarde.
Tond Rudraigc.
Scawtha.
Setanta.
Shencawn.
Slane.
Sooaltim.
Scathach.
Setanta.
Senchan.
Slane.
Sualtaim.
Thoo-ig Inver (Wavcof).
Tinny.
Tond Tuage Inbir.
Tinndi.
Usna.
Usnech.'
Bressla More.
Shessra More.
Breslech m6r.
Seisrech mor.
Neev.
Nocb, noem.
Kesh.
Cess.
*So in Miss Hull's book. I cannot find it in Miss Hutton's.
[the end.]
THE CATHOLIC EDUCATIONAL CONVENTION.
BY FRANCIS O'nEILL, O.P., PH.D.
URING the latter part of June, the Catholic educators
of this country assembled in National Convention in
the city of St. Paul. The land of the Dakotahs
welcomed their coming, and spread before them
with lavish hospitality the unsullied summer gifts
of the prairie.
Naturally, the first thought of the delegates on reaching St. Paul
centred upon the magnificent new cathedral, a royal pile of glistening
granite built in the form of a Greek cross, its wonderful dome over-
topping the loftiest pinnacles of the city. Truly it deserves the
exultant apostrophe of its builder: "A great and noble edifice
it is — this Cathedral of St. Paul — regal in the hill-top site chosen
as its throne; regal in the sparkling granite of its towering walls;
regal in vast proportions and in elegance of architectural lines ; regal
in the grandeur of its peerless dome. In pride and happiness we
salute thee. Cathedral of St. Paul! ''
The portals of this superb Cathedral gave wide welcoming to
the Catholic Educational Association, met for the first time west of
the Mississippi, as it gathered to assist at the Pontificial Mass
sung by the venerable Bishop McGolrick, and to hear from the
gracious lips of the Metropolitan of St. Paul a welcome and a
message.
His Grace told, in well-measured steps of rhetorical climax,
the progress of Catholic schools in assisting the Church to teach
the peoples of the world. The secularized school of the State had
the public treasury at its disposal; a resolute public opinion that
identified school secularization with patriotism sustained it; yet
the Church called for a fitter nursery for childhood and youth.
The Church held the secularized school to be a violence even to
secular knowledge, since it refused the " Whence '' and ** Whither "
of life. Science without God, history without Providence, Chris-
tianity without the Saviour! The home and the Sunday-school
have been proven inadequate. Morals have their root in religion,
and must go when the sanctions of faith are ignored. Hence,
the need of the Catholic school that religion may permeate and
1915] THE CATHOLIC EDUCATIONAL CONVENTION 789
vivify education. His Grace named the pastors of the country as
worthy of praise for their devotion to the parish school; the
Sisterhoods and Brotherhoods for their consecrated efforts to afford
Catholic education to all.
The general object of the Convention was the exchange of
pedagogical ideas. Not every plan will stand the test of discussion,
but as many tons of uranite must be crushed to secure a grain
of radium, so the labors of the convention must be gone thrdugh
diligently, that in the end added power may be obtained in the
management of school problems. This makes clear the value of
the wide range covered by the programme. Though at times the
debates grew in length and insistence, no debater felt upon his
neck the stricture of the Locrian halter.
To facilitate the progress of the work, the sittings of the
Convention were grouped into General and Departmental Sessions.^
General Sessions.
The General Session held five meetings. At the first, the
President General, Bishop Shahan, gave an address. It was a
scholarly review of the year's educational work, spoken with the
rare compelling power of a gentle, mild-mannered St. Francis de
Sales. The matter and the manner proved the keynote of the
Convention, and resulted in a harmony of business and social
intercourse which was one of its distinctive features.
At this same meeting Dr. Moran, of Cleveland, read a paper
recounting the manifold labors of the pastor in the cause of educa-
tion. Appealing to history, he traced the educational progress of
the centuries, and found it centred to-day upon the activities of
the parochial school.
Those who attended the meeting in the St. Paul Hotel, listened
with rapt attention to an elaborate exposition of the relations of
the State to education delivered by the Superintendent of Phila-
delphia's Parish Schools. Defining his terms plainly, Monsignor
McDevitt summarized the fundamental school provisions of the
Massachusetts colony as early as 1642; showing therein the prin-
ciples that have been accepted by the American government as
essential to the welfare of the State. He laid emphasis upon the
fact that religious instruction was at that time deemed imperative.
*The writer regrets the necessity of omitting mention of many papers owing to
inadequate press reports.
790 THE CATHOLIC EDUCATIONAL CONVENTION [Sept.,
Recalling a National ordinance of 1787 that "religion, morality,
and knowledge " were necessary to good government, the speaker
deplored the modifications that have crept in since; such as pater-
nalism, which aims to control the moral, intellectual, physical and
social life of the child; and mo fw poly, which grows more and more
jealous of the private school.
Monsignor McDevitt held that a well-grounded antipathy
towards the Catholic Church was one of the leading causes of the
absolute sway of the public school. He advocated a more earnest
insistence upon the following truths: the basic principle of the
Catholic school is religion; the right of the Church to establish
her own schools ; the non-exercise of a right does not destroy that
right — we are free to criticize the public school and its product,
since we are citizens and share equally in the tax levy ; the present
school system is sectarian, un-American, and based on class legisla-
tion; the Catholic school is not inferior in any way to the public
school.
In conclusion, the speaker said that Catholics should rebuke
radical school authority; insist on fair laws; demand these as a
right; and protect themselves from the exploitations of a certain
class of Catholics who champion the public school system at tlie
call of personal ambition.
In the discussion consequent upon this paper, Father Dunney,
of Albany, talked earnestly of the need of watching State legfislation
in school matters. Dr. McGinnis, of St. Paul, reviewed the salient
points of Monsignor McDevitt's address, with an extended develop-
ment of State paternalism and a statement of the financial benefits
accruing to the State through the extra expenditures of her Catholic
citizens.
The following day Father Edwin V. 0*Hara, of Oregon, dis-
cussed the bearing of present social problems upon education. In-
dustrial training is obligatory if men are to profit by the abundance
of raw material at hand; if young people are to be directed away
from the pitfalls of blind-ally jobs into the regular employment of
established trades. Continuation schools are needed to give support,
and stimulate a due appreciation of social valuations. " Heretofore,
America has been a huge stevedore, a mighty longshoreman, bearing
down to the ships of the sea crude and semi-crude materials for
the employment of the capital, lalx)r and intellect of foreign nations.
But the limit of exploitation of our national resources has been
reached, and our untrained workmen are marching unemployed,
1915] THE CATHOLIC EDUCATIONAL CONVENTION 791
empty-handed, and sullen within the gates of every American city
from Seattle to Baltimore."
The great auditorium of St. Paul was taxed to its capacity
when the delegates and their friends gathered to enjoy a public
programme. Father Gibbons, of St. Paul, presided. Archbishop
Ireland, Bishops McGolrick, Carroll, and Shahan gave the honor
of their presence. The programme was made up of addresses by
prominent men in the Church and in the State. The accomplish-
ments of Catholic schools, the advance of collegiate ideals, the
citizen's opportunity, the Catholic professional man, and the mission
of higher education — ^all these subjects were presented in forceful
argument and finished diction.
Departmental Sessions.
The Seminary Department in its initial meeting met in joint
session with the College Department for the discussion of the mutual
relations between seminary and college. Monsignor Peterson, of
Boston, who presented the seminary point of view, and Father
O'Mahoney, C.S.V., of St. Viator's, who stood for the collegiate,
battled with the problem of the philosophical course; the former
contending for its study in the seminary, the latter insisting that
the college should not be robbed of its candidates for the priesthood.
An attempt was made by both speakers to harmonize the two posi-
tions somewhat by the repetition, in part, of the philosophical course
given by the college.
Father Feeney, of the St. Paul Seminary, offered a convincing
argument for an extended seminary course, pointing out the dangers
of the mixed college, and advocating a special training for clerics
during the formative period of their lives. During the reading of
this paper, His Grace Archbishop Ireland was present, and at its
close spoke frankly and intimately concerning the building up of his
own seminary. That the Church may have worthy leaders, piety,
learning and prudence are necessary, and since these are inculcated
best in seminary training, therefore, above all other schools, stands
the seminary.
The collegiate interests of the Association were presided over
by Dr. Schumacher, C.S.C, of Notre Dame. At all times, suaviter
in modo, fortiter in re, he guided the numerous debates through
devious ways into the broad fields of mutual understanding.
Father Siedenburg, SJ., the able sociologist of Loyola Uni-
792 THE CATHOLIC EDUCATIONAL CONVENTION [Sept.,
versity, noted the tendency towards educational bureaucracy. Euro-
pean influences have elevated our standards, but until brains are
rated higher than the power to barter, America cannot hope to equal
Europe in the things of the mind.
Father Blackmore, S.J., of Campion College, brought analyt-
ical forces to unwind the woefully knotted skein of English theme
writing. He recognized the difficulty in practice — how to get
a little soul to give utterance to the conflict aroused within.
The first topic before the members of the Parish School De-
partment was the content of the curriculum. Brother Albert, S.M.,
of Peoria, outlined the subject matter of three types of content;
the first, to prepare the student for elementary educational pro-
cesses ; the second, to prepare for preparatory processes to second-
ary education; the third, to prepare for the finishing processes of
education. The speaker held that sufficient preparation for advance
into secondary fields could be had by shortening the elementary
course of six years. This would g^ve the twelve-year-old student
a chance to vocationalize his future studies.
Father Costello, of Charlestown, Illinois, presented the vexing
problem of how best to teach Christian Doctrine to the large num-
bers of children who attend the public school. Organization must
establish afternoon centres for catechism teaching ; enroll children ;
secure teachers and compile a satisfactory census. There is no
lack of encouragement frorn the public school side, since the results
add efficiency to school work. Splendid service is being rendered
by the Chapter of United Catholic Works of New York, the
Missionary Confraternity of Christian Doctrine of Pittsburgh, and
the Catholic Instruction League of Chicago.
In Gary, Indiana, an unique plan is in operation. During the
auditorium hour the Catholic children are free to attend churches
where instruction has been provided. In some places credit is
given for these hours spent in religious instruction. Father Costello
urged the cooperation of pastors to further the movement; the
salvation of so many souls depends upon their enlistment.
Father Hickey, of Boston, discussed the Backward Child,
Special attention is demanded for the feeble-minded child, for the
subnormal and the retarded. Enimierating the causes of retarda-
tion, many were found beyond the control of the child. He is.
then, or should be, the object of kind and individual attention. He
will welcome the offices of the teacher who shows an active faith in
his future; he will associate gladly among a mixed class. His
1915] THE CATHOLIC EDUCATIONAL CONVENTION 793
selection should be made under a test that will not lower him in
the eyes of his fellows. Let the impression go abroad that the
school has provided a special teacher for the subjects found to be
especially hard. The retarded case requires sympathy, interest,
and care.
The announcement that a paper, A Taste for Reading, was to
be read by Father Daley, SJ., the distinguished literary critic,
gathered together a markedly enthusiastic audience. In language,
precise, tasteful and brilliant, the gfifted Jesuit opened thje
Zillah vision of good reading. Its cultivation saves youth from
danger, and brings character, power, and steadfastness of will.
Lyrics appeal to the feelings, the searching probes of analysis
sharpen the intellect; lead the student to seek the heroic, passing
by the groveling^ of the flesh.
The twelfth annual meeting of the Association came to a
close with harmony, good-will, and enthusiasm written large upon
its deliberations. The Association aims to become the official bul-
wark of Catholic Education in the United States. Through the
untiring and energetic devotion of its Secretary General, Dr.
Howard, of Columbus, it spreads over the land, month by month,
a detailed account of the work accomplished, and prepares the way
for still greater reapings in the harvest-field of truth.
It was with the far, fruitioning hope of the pathfinder that
the members turned homeward from their labors in the city of St.
Paul. They carried with them the deep and lasting gratitude of all
who are concerned with the ultimate triumph of the principles of
Catholic Education.
WHITE EAGLE.
BY L. P. DECONDUN.
VIII.
Paris, July lo, 191 3.
HAVE already told you, my dear Rex, how much spoiled
we are here by our kind hostess ; and now that we have
come to speak to her quite naturally, we feel completely
at home. But it was difficult at the beginning ; in fact
once she stopped me gently.
" Do not fear raising your voice, Mrs. Camber-
well," she said, "and don't be too sorry for me. I am accustomed
to this slight trouble."
*'Can nothing be done for it?" I asked childishly.
She smiled.
" Oh, no," she said, " the vocal cords are hopelessly injured ; but
when I had a voice I made the most of it, and that is a satisfaction,
even at present."
I was dying to ask how it happened, but I could not possibly
question her, and she volunteered no information. Yet I am sure
she must have sung remarkably well. We found many pieces of
hers with her name on them : " Waclawa Stablewska," which to be
properly rendered require a voice of unusual compass. Nancy's
trial of them was a failure, yet Nancy has quite a reputation. Need-
less to say, that this same Nancy and I have discussed the "mother
and daughter" and the house from every point of view; and that,
seeing my interest in them, she has never missed an opportunity of
teasing me.
" What an enormous bump of romantic admiration you must
possess, Nemo," she told me yesterday; "you are getting absolutely
bewitched by Madame Stablewska."
"Why should I not?" I asked, "could she be nicer, and is it
not better to praise than to criticize ? "
* " Oh, please don't ! You know what I mean. You are such
an imaginative goose in some cases. Because this lady speaks under
her breath, dresses in black, smiles silently, because her daughter is
thoughtful and quiet (which is natural, living alone with her mother),
and because this daughter neither moves nor walks as quickly as most
girls."
" Nancy," I interrupted in a low voice, " she cannot kneel."
" How do you know ? "
19151 WHITE EAGLE 795
"Well, did you see her kneel?"
" No, but—"
" I was behind her at Mass last Sunday. She only bent forward.*'
" Perhaps she has had a fall ; there is nothing extraordinary in
that. However, because of all this, and because the house is not
quite like others, because the library is of a peculiar shape, your
imagination is going a thousand miles a minute. Is it not true?
Oh, honestly, Nemo, you are childish!"
"Well," said I, tossing my head, "what harm? Besides there
is more than that!"
"What else?"
I hesitated a second.
" There are people whom you have not met, living in this house."
Nancy positively grinned.
"Bravp!" she cried, "go on; but I must say you are a jewel!
Now proceed with the details. I suppose wJiat follows is the dis-
covery of a Nihilist conspiracy. We have everjrthing we need for it :
mysterious house, secret passages, hidden people, Polish centre."
* " I don't know about that," J went on shaking my head, " but
I will tell you what I can. Do you remember last week when I left
you at the Louvre, and came back alone because I was tired?"
" I do."
" That day when I came in I passed three men who were com-
ing downstairs. They stepped back to let me pass. I acknowledged
their bow and went up, but I heard the oldest man of the three ask
very distinctly in French who I was, and one of the others answered
that I was a friend of Maryna Lowinska."
"Well," said Nancy with a scrap of contempt, "some visitors
most likely."
" That is what I thought ; and I forgot all about them until two
days later, when I met the same people; but this time they were
coming in."
" I suppose they have to come in before they can go out," re-
marked Nancy dryly.
" Don't be too clever," I advised. " The singular part of it was
that the old man asked the same question when I reached the hall:
'Who is this lady?' and one of the others answered the very same
thing: 'A friend of Maryna Lowinska.'"
" Perhaps this old gentleman did not recognize you ; he might
have a bad sight."
" If so, he didn't look as if he had. I wish you could have seen
his long, rather narrow, piercing dark eyes. He is tall with broad
shoulders, has a determined face and a fine strong mouth, with a
slightly projecting under-jaw."
796 WHITE EAGLE [Sept.,
*' You seem to have taken good stock of him."
" I have had the opportunity. I met him again this morning."
"Really?" said Nancy with keen enjoyment. "This time (teas-
ingly) he was going out?"
" No, he was not," I answered in triumph. " My dear, they had
a key of their own, and were opening one of the oak doors in the
upper hall. What is more they disappeared behind it, and I heard
the old gentleman repeat his eternal question as soon as I was suffi-
ciently far : *Who is this lady ?' and one of the two other men gave the
very same answer: *A friend of Maryna Lowinska.* Now, what
has your precious wisdom to say to that ? "
And I sat looking expectantly at Nancy. For a wonder, she had
nothing to remark ; but, after a second or two, she volunteered a sug-
gestion.
" How can you tell that these men were not architects coming
to examine the house to place a lift ? It is certainly wanted here, con-
sidering that the room most often occupied is under the roof."
But I hugged myself with sheer pleasure.
" Hopeless ! my dear friend," I exclaimed. " I wish you could
have seen the sort of architects they would make! I am just dying
for you to meet them ! "
" I daresay I would soon find out who they were," replied Nancy
in a superior tone. " My brain isn't given to the creation of fairy
tales."
We were choosing a few books in the library. As Nancy ended
her sentence, there was the curious vibration of a muffled electric bell,
as if at the back of the mantel-piece.
" Did you hear ? " I asked. " What was that? "
" How could I tell you ? A bell in the next house, I presume."
" Of course," I replied with condescension, " this would sound
all right if there was a house behind this wall; only there happens
to be nothing. The wall faces an open yard."
" At any rate it cannot be of much importance," decreed Nancy ;
" I have heard that bell several times before."
" Most satisfactory answer ! Quite a discovery in logic.'-
" Nemo, you are too foolish," said Nancy laughing. " Come,
there goes the dressing bell; it is almost dinner time."
To tell you the truth. Rex dear, though I did not attach very
much importance to my discoveries, they had awakened my curiosity
just enough to make me regret to leave it unsatisfied. Still, being the
guests of the Prince, we could not very well pry into his private
affairs. But enough of this nonsense.
We have received a good many letters from home since we came.
Your mother and Joan have gone to C , Max will not get his
1915] WHITE EAGLE 797
holidays for another fortnight at least, and Maryiia is mentioning the
possibility of joining us here. This would be glorious. Madame
Stablewska and Helena are delighted at the prospect, and it has been
our chief subject of conversation for the last two days.
This morning, at lunch, Helena told us, with her soft engaging
laugh, that she would have to call at once on her dressmaker. She
had, of late, neglected this important person, and now she would
have to be seriously interviewed before Maryna appeared on the
scene. Needless to say that both Nancy and I volunteered to ac-
company her. The weather was ideal, and we were ready to start in
the shortest possible time. A taxi was called, and when the solemn
footman had closed the door of it and given directions to the driver,
we darted off at breakneck speed. I believe the reason of it was that
we were in a cab ornamented with a little white flag. There is quite
a complicated series of these signs. With the blue you merely run,
with the red you fly, but with the white one you begin to fancy
yourself first cousin to a tornado. In a twinkling we left the avenue
behind us, turned in and out of a quantity of streets with the most
fantastic curves, flew across the Pont Alexandre as if we were bent
on invading Russia, and, in an incredibly short time, stopped dazed
at the corner of the Rue Royale.
Helena had enjoyed our watchful faces all the way, and was
still laughing when we came face to face with the " priestess of
fashion." But she, very soon, had to forget such insignificant things as
dashing into a shop, or running over two or three pedestrians. She
had to " concentrate " — oh, Rex ! don't you love the word ? — to con-
centrate on the important question of shades and shapes and " motifs."
She had to try on and meditate about three very new " different move-
ments " of skirts, and decide whether she would prefer " a fetching
sleeve, a popular one, or something individual." We stayed there fifty-
four minutes, and I guarantee that Helena did her best to hurry all
those people.
At long, long last, when we had done with dressmaker, tailor
and modiste and reentered our taxi for the fourth time, Helena told
us that she was too tired for any more of this heavy work, and that
we should have to do something to rest ourselves and relieve tension.
At the same time she produced a series of cards of admission to the
chief historical buildings, which we had expressed some time before the
wish to visit. This was quite a surprise; and at first we could not
agree in our choice until we decided to draw one of the cards. It
was an entrance-card for the Conciergerie.
Helena gave the necessary directions, and once more we started
at a wild speed, punctuated now and then by violent jerks or a
fraction of a second's stoppage. I could not tell you how we reached
798 WHITE EAGLE [Sept.,
the Conciergerie, of which our driver seemed unable to find the door,
and around which we flew in an endless circle; but at last we did,
with alas! a large party of Russians and Americans. This was the
worst of it, as between the guide reciting at full speed a whole pag^e
of information which we could not follow, and the half-dozen
Baedekers read aloud, and at the same time by little groups, we
became absolutely bewildered. So we decided to lag behind and
make as much of things as we could. At that moment we were
facing the famous salle des gardes of St. Louis, with its low
Gothic roof and pillars; but even in this gloom it was difficult
enough to evoke the knights of old, with proud faces and clashing
armor who, Joinville tells us, saw their fkir-haired king tower above
them.
All that one might perhaps picture for a second, was the face of
the witty seneschal at the sight of so many, ''moult Strange criatures,"
all rushing after a monotonous "Voice" to vanish with it in the dis-
tance. We only found ourselves near the " Voice " again on the
threshold of the small, square dark room, where Marie Antoinette spent
the last months of her life. I think we listened against our will to
the general descriptions, coming as through a gramophone, and re-
vealing the revolting treatment she had to endure. For us who were
not " doing Paris," and for whom the Queen stood, more than ever
in this miserable cell, as the daughter of Maria Theresa, we longed for
the crowd to go and leave us there alone. But we did not get this
satisfaction; as soon as the last little groups melted away, an old
man popped out of the very ground to offer us post cards.
So we passed on, but we had practically no interest in, or rather
little sympathy with, the Girondists. Even the remembrance of their
"last supper," prepared and served chiefly in the brilliant imagination
of the poet who described it, left us indifferent. That some of these
men had attracted the public, we did not deny, but their names were
too closely allied to the insulting letter of Roland — one should say,
of Madame Roland — ^to Louis XVI., not to bring to the mind a feeling
of contempt. Still, there was a certain sense of retribution in the
fact that a dozen steps from the Queen's dungeon, they had them-
selves awaited death; and that, even at a less distance, Robes-
pierre lying wounded by his own cowardly hand, had remained a
whole night, his jaw broken and torn, until he was carried to the
scaffold.
" I wonder," remarked Nancy thoughtfully, " whether he made
the most of his opportunity and repented of his precious collection of
crimes. He must have known he was near the spot where the Queen
had prayed through her last night of agony."
Helena looked at her.
.UM
191 5] IVHITE EAGLE 799
" Miss O'Dwyer," she asked in her quiet way, " have you ever
suflfered much, physically ? "
"No," said Nancy, "why?"
"Ah! that is it. Do you know that if acute pain lasts a long
time, one either becomes unable to think in a reasonable, connected
manner; or else one gets so absorbed in that pain that no other ob-
ject is of importance. If Robespierre lay there alone, unattended
and in a state of intense bodily suffering, it is more than probable that
he thought chiefly of it. Yet, of course, we do not know ; God is very
merciful."
And as we looked at her, she continued : " I mean that grace
is grace, and that we are told not to judge."
" Oh, but," I objected, " surely Robespierre — " My tone must
have spoken volumes as Helena laughed softly.
" Perhaps his victims prayed for him," she said ; " martyrs must be
forgiving people."
Her smiling eyes were looking at us with such confident ease
that for a minute I was struck with the appearance of the girl.
Through the gloom of Marie Antoinette's cell she stood so straight
and slender, in her shadowy white dress, that by an unexplainable
process the girl and the Queen merged, in my mind, in a sort of
compound picture. The martyred Queen once had been just such a
young, gracious creature; but where did this child get the gentle,
tranquil, unassailable attitude of the soul who understands?
" This way, please," called the " Voice." And the spell broke.
Like any other visitor we went round the inner hall, and tried to
decipher some of the framed letters on the walls, but the light was
scarcely good enough. So we drifted away until we found ourselves
in the passage of the Palais de Justice; and, while awakening a
hundred echoes with our footsteps, we decided to go through the
Saint Chapelle before trusting our lives again to the white-flagged taxi.
There was very little change in the " Gothic jewel " of St. Louis since
you and I saw it together; the same empty naves in the lower and
upper church, the same wooden barriers protecting the walls; the
same empty places for the two altars. The only addition I could see
was a portable shop of post cards of all kinds and prices ; and of these
I bought quite a collection.
Another thing unaltered was the narrow, turning staircase where
you caught the lady who nearly fell on us. Do you recollect how
grateful she was, and how I enjoyed hearing her tell her friends
with a tragic voice : " My dears, I mig^t have killed myself. How
fortunate that the gentleman was so strong and so alert ; he has saved
my life ! " Which, reduced to its simplest expression, meant : " He
prevented me from spraining my ankle."
8oo WHITE EAGLE [Sept.,
But do you know, my dearest, in spite of the sunshine throwing
a wealth of colors through the matchless windows, there was more
than ever around us the feeling of a deserted altar. Instinctively one
looked for the tabernacle; for the thrones of both Louis and
Blanche, with the " lilies of France " and " towers of Castille."
Nothing seems to remain here of France's veiled glory, and it
is so lonely that one would rejoice even if the cunning, but clever, face
of Louis XL was caught for a second, watching through his slanting
window. True, his is not an attractive figure, and particularly for
those who have learned what they know of him in plays and novels;
but above all his faults, he remained a king, a patriot, and even a
Christian ; and, though he made unexpected use of his crown and of
his faith, he was careful to cling like a miser to what was for the
good of France " qu'il voulait arrondirf Indeed these old kings, in
spite of their errors, their absolutism, their crimes, even, were heart
aqd soul with the nation, rose and fell with it, loved it, fought for it,
put their pride in it. Many a day they shed France's blood, but did
they ever hesitate to shed their own for her sake ? Their compact with
her was of life and death, not of interest and traffic. And now?
Now, it is better to draw a veil.
When we found ourselves once more in the taxi, Nancy produced
a pattern of silk which she had been trying to match previously. It
was a commission from Joan, and Helena thought we might find it at
the Galeries Lafayette. In for a penny, in for a pound; we started
unhesitatingly towards the fashionable shop. The evening was beau-
tiful and our cab an open one. We seemed to be gliding through
a fairy city when, leaving the Pont de la Concorde, we crossed the
broad and dazzling Place, now so white, once red with blood, and
described a long curve around the Obelisque and the mourning statue
of Strassburg. Again we reached the Rue Royale, but this time we
flew behind the Madeleine, up the Rue Tronchet, and threading an
almost impossible way into a multitude of vehicles on the Boulevard,
stopped by a sort of miracle opposite the *' Galeries." Then,
indeed, we had parted from the soul of Paris, to fall head-
long into its cosmopolitan life! Could it possibly be the same
city? Were those French people of the same race and blood as the
warlike nation of the past centuries? How unlikely it seemed; and
yet, taken one by one, at the right time, the generality of them would
give the true ring. Pure metal is still there under the rust ac-
cumulated by a false progress. One finds it in a word, a smile, a
patient, steadfast expression, the witty reply of an exhausted shop
girl, the obliging help of a worried attendant, and the inborn good
humor of the majority.
We went hither and thither with the narrow scrap of silk,' until
1915] WHITE EAGLE 801
our perseverance was rewarded. Nancy was then tempted to begin
some of her own shopping, but I refused positively to go a step
further. All I could concede was to take the lift up to the tea-rooms,
which we did. Certainly, in the matter of elegance, it is difficult to
surpass the French. Those rooms were all softness and harmony from
velvety carpets to suggested sketches. The palest of blues, of grays,
of heliotropes were blended with perfect art, and after our refresh-
ments we stood up, rested in mind and body.
It was in the slanting gleams of a golden sunset that we turned
back towards the Avenue de Segur. Quite a heavy mail awaited us
(although there was nothing from you this time, dear) but our news
was not too satisfactory. Nancy had a letter from Joan, with little
bits of flippant indifference, and some rather scornful remarks about
things in general. We wondered why. As a rule Joan does not
follow her imagination blindly, and she has a quick sense of intuition.
The letter from your mother was, as ever, clear, to the point, inter-
esting, but saying not one word more than she had intended to. She
would have made her reputation in a diplomatic body. As for the
epistle from Max, neither Nancy nor I could make much of it. He
seemed discontented with every mortal thing around him; with the
War Office, with some of his colleagues, with C , which he calls
a hole, with London because the weather is so hot; even with Joan
who has refused to take a short trip with him to the Tyrol. Willie
R is going there and may pass through Paris. Both he and Max
have seen a good deal of the Lowinskis lately, as the Prince is de-
tained in London by some political business. But most of Max's
other friends had left the Metropolis, and he feels like a caged tiger.
How altogether unlike him; he is always so good-humored
and happy-go-lucky ! I think that if he does not go to the Tyrol for
his holidays, he had better come to Paris. He badly needs a change
of surroundings. Nancy thinks so too, but she is chiefly worried
about Joan. Dear me! And I had believed everything happily settled
for ever, between those two! It is not that they do not love each
other, because they do. Then, what can it be? I wish those young
people would not be so tiresome!
Helena also had several letters, and amongst them a set of photo-
graphs which interested us all. They were enlarged snapshots of
sporting matches, in which Prince Lowinski's son was one of the
principal figures. A fine young fellow of twenty-five, Helena tells us,
who has already won a number of sporting trophies. She went
even further in her confidence, and told us candidly that she and
this young man have been engaged four years. Mark that I do not
say months but years. She smiled at our badly repressed surprise.
" Of course," she explained, " until some time ago it was only
vol.. CI,— 51
8o2 IVHITE EAGLE [Sept,,
a conditional engagement of our respective families, but now it is
a freely taken and binding one, though we shall not be married for two
years more."
"Isn't that a great delay?" remarked Nancy. "I always think
long engagements are a mistake."
" It cannot be helped in our case," said Helena ; " so many im-
portant things are involved in it"
" But," insisted Nancy with her Irish independence, " you arc
marrying for your own sakes, before any other!"
" Well ! in a sense we are," answered the girl half-amused, half-
serious ; " but you see the old families of Poland have been so cruelly
destroyed and are still diminishing so much, that s<Hne of them must
make a stand together. That alone would have helped Paul Lowinstd
and me to make up our minds (so long as conscience would have been
respected), even if we had to be contented with our long-lasting
friendship."
"You mean," asked Nancy with a shade of disapproval, "that
you could have been satisfied with a mariage de convenancef*
" Some mariages de convenance have been noted successes."
"But would you have consented to it?" persisted Nancy.
" Very likely," said Helena unmoved.
"And your fiance also?"
" Without a doubt"
" Well, I have heard of such things in France and even in Eng-
land; but it was, as a rule, a question of money."
" I am happy to tell you that money does not come into our case,"
said Helena smiling.
" Then why — ^" began Nancy.
Helena lifted her hand.
" Do you think, Miss O'Dwyer," she asked gently, " that we
should be unable to do for a higher motive what so many people can
do for interest; because that is the point."
**Oh, well," went on Nancy obstinately, "these lofty ideas are
very fine in theory, but many people come to grief trying to live up
to them."
"Quite so," replied the girl, "just as people come to grief in
trying their aeroplanes, others in leading their armies, and a larger
ntmiber in sitting idly at home. We can all come to grief if we are
not careful. Yet, if we shirked every difficulty because we might
fail, how many people would ever do an)rthing?"
" Helena ! " I cried laughing, " what a fierce little philosopher
you can be ! "
" Helena ! " said Nancy with mock severity, " if you were an Eng-
lish girl we should call you a 'prig.' "
1915] WHITE EAGLE 803
"Why?" asked the girl simply.
" Because," answered Nancy, laughing also, *' because English
young ladies who give lessons to their elders, and deliver moral
lectures without a blush, are conceited little owls; which we know
you are not?"
But a tinge of sadness passed over Helena's face.
" Ah I " she said slowly, " they have not had the same bringing
up. If the first stories they listened to as children had been tales of
tortures and death, of hopeless but heroic deeds; if they had been
daily told that nothing matters but their creed, their honor and their
country ; if they had been made to understand that their life was only
their own to be used as means to an end, and if they were almost the
last of their race! " (She stopped and shook her head.) " It would
have made a great difference to them," she added.
Even Nancy had nothing to answer.
" Look," went on the girl, extending towards us her slender
wrist, around which was fastened a band of metal set with dark
stones, " do you see what is engraved on this ? "
"Yes," said I, "but I cannot read it."
" I cannot either," remarked Nancy ; " but I guess what it is.
If I am not mistaken it is the motto of Prince Lowinski. I have
seen the same inscription on some other object."
Helena smiled.
" It is the watchword of Poland : 'Za Wiare i Ojcsysne* — ^*For
Faith and Country.' "
While speaking she had pressed a tiny spring, and the bracelet
had opened and slipped over her hand.
" How beautifully it is made ! " I exclaimed. " One can scarcely
see the clasp or the hinges."
" It is of Russian workmanship, and my first 'serious jewel,*
as the French would call it."
She handed it to me.
" But it is so heavy I " I remarked with surprise.
She nodded.
" Platinum," she said.
" How can you endure it on your arm ? " wondered Nancy,
slowly weighing the metal band. Yet it was rather thin in pro-
portion to its breadth.
" I am accustomed to it now, and it has been worn by the
women of my famify for a long period. It passes from mother to
daughter on the day of the latter's betrothal."
" That's all very fine," interrupted Nancy, " but why should it
be made of platinum? You might as well wear a handcuflF."
The girl laughed.
8o4 WHITE EAGLE [Sept.,
" Well ! " she said, " it is not yxnlike it Platinum is cumber-
some to carry, and therefore the very thing to remind one that:
noblesse oblige. Besides, it has mostly been drawn from the Ural
Mountains by our suffering brothers, and cries out that Poland is
still little better than a handcuffed convict. I fear, Miss O'Dwyer,
that we are romantic at times." And as Nancy and I remained silent :
" I believe you are shocked," she went on. " Is it because, in this
house, we cling so much to the past? Yet I heard Prince Lowinski
deplore more than once that the enthusiasm and heroism of our nation
were weakened by the influence of godless socialistic dreamers.
Happily you are not much troubled with this in Ireland, are you ? You
are going ahead, with a will, and in the right direction ? "
Nancy coughed, and I smiled.
** I am not very much au courant about Socialism," she said
dubiously, "but we are far from being godless yet. As for 'going
ahead,' I suppose (vaguely) you mean Home Rule?"
The girl assented.
" Oh I that is progressing safely enough. Even the opposition of
Ulster could not prevent it now. Besides, why should it? there is
no real hatred between us at present. I don't believe it."
Helena shook her head doubtfully.
" Prince Lowinski says that the North may show fight. He
thinks it may be pushed to it by an outside, strong political body,
who finds a benefit in keeping Ireland divided."
But Nancy pooh-poohed the idea.
" None of us credits the possibility of a civil war," she said
with finality.
" I don't know. Prince Lowinski has been studying the Irish
movement very closely. We, too, long to work our way to free-
dom, but through legislation also. Both Irish and Poles have shed
enough blood in the past."
" Far too much," I punctuated.
" Which does not mean," corrected the girl, " that we should
grudge shedding it again if there was any need. Does it?"
"No" (from Nancy).
The girl bent forward, her elbows on her knees, her eyes lit
up, her voice low and vibrating.
" Miss O'Dwyer," she asked, " did you ever feel that, in spite
of all, it would be a great thing to give your life to your
country ? "
Nancy opened her lips with the presumable intention of answer-
ing, but she seemed to find nothing to say; and I — O Rex, it was
a shame, but I began to laugh hopelessly.
This figure of an apparently unwilling Joan of Arc was too
iQiS] WHITE EAGLE 805
much for me to stand in cold blood. In vain did Helena look up
with a questioning glance and Nancy gratify me with a savage frown.
I laughed until the absurdity of her serious face forced itself upon
her. Then she smiled, struggled against it, and finally, giving way,
hid her face in her hands and shook with merriment. Helena re-
mained dumb, her lips closed with such sternness that I bent for-
ward and took her hand.
" My dear child," I implored, " for pify's sake don't be hurt
or oflFended; just try to understand. You are such an earnest *
little patriot and real heroine that you cannot look at things in
our easy-going way ; but it would require very g^ve circumstances
to make of Nancy a Telesilla or a Jeanne Hachette. She is the
dearest creature in the world, but where actual politics are con-
cerned she is a humbug. It is her consciousness of this which makes
her laugh this minute."
The girl did not answer ; she looked from one to the other of us
as if attempting to give a sense to my words.
" Do you mean," she asked hesitatingly, " that — that your coun-
tries are nothing to either of you?"
" Not at all, dear, I don't mean that, because it would not be
true, thank goodness I but you see we are not placed in your position.
What is demanded of us by our respective countries is not what
perhaps is demanded by yours. For me, or even for Nancy, as things
are at present, death on a scaflFold is a thing out of the question;
it would help nobody, and nobody wants it. In fact, the few things
needed for Ireland are moderation and understanding, with a strong
element of perseverance."
V Nancy nodded.
" Quite so," she agreed, recovering her breath with an eflFort,
" perseverance is what we need, and union, too, as we have a sad
tendency in Ireland to refuse to pull together. Everyone wants to
lead and nobody to follow; though, I must say, we have improved
the last few years."
"And you approve of Home Rule?"
" I — most certainly."
"But would you fight for it?"
"Fight! I should think so."
"And yet you laughed."
Nancy wavered for a second, then plunged into the very depth
of truth.
" Of course I did. How could I help it, when I compared the
poor figure I cut against the picture your enthusiastic little self made
of me. You cannot guess how utterly ridiculous it made me appear
in Nemo's eyes. She could not have remained serious to save her
8o6 WHITE EAGLE [Sept.,
life, and neither could I, though the laugh was at my own ejq>eiise.
Can you understand that?"*
And, as the girl did not answer; "Have you never laughed at
yourself ? "
" Not quite like that/' she said. " Still I think I follow you.**
I again threw myself into the breach.
" Listen, Helena," I explained, " don't be astonished at an3rthii^
concerning Irish people ; they are like no one else. They can no more
be judged by other nations' rules than you can measure a broken frag-
ment of rock with an ebony ruler.
" For one thing their sense of the ridiculous can make them
witty — I have seen cases of it — on their deathbed; for another,
their idea of justice would make them fly into the jaws of death to
get fair play; and their kind hearts constantly run them into all
sorts of worries or dangers, without a thought but that of helpii^
others. Even when they think of fighting they don't consider death ;
what they see ahead is 'a grand shower of blows,' and victory after
it. Death may occur, but then you can't account for accidents.
For them death is the accident; they take their chance. And Nancy
would act in the very same way, blossoming out into a warrior to-
morrow, if Irish prospects were to look black ; you can take my word
for it, but she would never imagine herself dying."
Before the girl could answer, Nancy had turned to me with a
grave bow.
" I trust your charges for panegyrics are moderate," she said
with assumed concern. " You forget to mention it, but Irish people
are not wealthy."
Even Helena smiled.
The dinner gong interrupted us at this juncture, and for my
part, I was glad. What tremendously serious views of life Helena
has for a girl of her age. To live near her is like stepping inside
a book written some centuries ago. A strangely fine book, but " out
of print."
IX.
Paris, July, 1913.
When we met at breakfast yesterday, my dearest, we had the
most beaming faces which you could imagine. Madame Stablewska
had a letter from Prince Lowinski announcing his and Maryna's
arrival to-morrow. There was also a note from the latter to Helena,
besides a long envelope with a Russian stamp. Nancy had an unde-
cipherable note from her father, but what she could read of it seemed
satisfactory ; and I, my own Rex, received two of your dear scribbles.
"Joy never kills!"
Do you know that more than ever this time I have attempted to
I9I5-] HHITE EAGLE 807
read between the lines. There must be, at last, some signs that your
undertaking has been successful. You say that all is going on well,
that you are training capable men to take your place in the direction
of aflFairs, then why, why need you stay there so much longer? The
fact that you do not say a word about your immediate movements may
mean as easily what I wish as what I dread; so that it would be
more merciful to tell me the plain truth. Am I to expect you soon,
or not? But I will not insist. Better to go on hoping — since nothing
yet has forbidden me to do so — ^and tell you what happened yesterday
a little later.
On the previous evening Nancy had been wearing her long
Indian chain ; and when suddenly standing up she had caught it with
the arm of her chair, the metal thread had snapped and the silver
beads had fallen in every direction. We had looked for them at once,
and thought we had picked them all up, but this morning four
were still missing ; so after breakfast she and I went to hunt for them
in the bronze drawing-room. After a good deal of trouble we found
three ; but as the fourth seemed to have totally disappeared, I fancied
it might have been dropped in the library, where Nancy had gone
afterwards for a book. It might have remained in a fold of her gown.
However when I went there, carefully walking up from the door
towards the fireplace, I heard a rustling of paper in the recess on
the right side. Instinct or curiosity took me straight in that direction,
but before I could reach it, there was the faint snap of the spring
door, and I found the recess empty. I would not have been a
woman, my darling, if I had not retraced my steps and reached the
entrance of the library before the vanishing person had had time
to disappear below the curve of the staircase; and there I saw,
without the possibility of a doubt, one of the three men whom I
had met before. I could not exactly describe my feeling at that
moment. The sense of mystery, of excitement, of triumph, too (as
this man must have come face to face with Nancy in the pink drawing-
room), made me fly back to it; and there I found our friend standing,
dumb, her eyes fastened on the door.
" Well I " I exclaimed in a loud whisper. " You have seen him ? "
She nodded. " That is the youngest of the three. Was he much
surprised to find you here?"
" He must have been ; as on the carpet my footsteps could not
have been heard. He must have thought this room was empty."
" Very likely, while he heard me walking across the library. Did
he say anything?"
" Not a word. The instant his glance fell on me, he bowed and
walked away as unmoved as if he had expected me to be there from
the beginning of the world."
8o8 - WHITE EAGLE [Sept.,
For a moment Nancy and I remained motionless, staring at each
other; then, of a common accord, we both sat down on opposite
chairs.
"Nancy, what do you make of it?" She lifted her shoulders
ever so slightly, and with the most perfect of French manners; so
far from being the rude kind of expression which we are apt to
impute to the French people, this movement said more clearly than
words : " I wish I knew ! "
I could not repress a tiny g^in. " You did not take the man for
an 'architect?'** I asked.
She smiled too. " Not this one," she answered.
" Who do you think he can be ? "
" How could I tell? A Pole also, very likely."
" But why are all these Poles assembling in this house? "
** It looks as if it were for political purposes, of course."
" Yet, you scorned my idea last week that things looked mys-
terious."
" Oh, but you, Nemo, you 'go to the fair' with everything."
" And what about you, this minute? "
" My dear friend, I only said that it looked peculiar ; but after
reflection I am inclined to think I could solve the whole problem."
" Oh, really? What a brain you have ! "
" You needn't sneer ; it is quite simple, and we were fools not
to think of it before. This man — in fact the three men you
saw — are probably secretaries of Prince Lowinski. You don't suppose
that a statesman of his importance could do without several attendants,
typists, clerks, secretaries, and goodness knows what. And possibly
the other side of the house is given up to them and their work."
" Then what was this one doing here? "
" Looking for references perhaps."
" But why should he run like a thief? "
" He did not go like a thief ; he seemed thoroughly at his ease."
" Which would strengthen your theory."
" Decidedly."
" Perhaps you are right," I said with r^^t.
" I am. My dear, remember that in nine cases out of ten the
simplest explanation is generally the true one." There was nothing
to say to that, but I very nearly felt aggrieved.
After another attempt at finding the lost bead, we went up to
finish our correspondence, as we had promised to lunch with some of
Helena's friends.
Paris, July. 191 3.
Four days have passed so rapidly, my darling, that I have not
had the chance of getting an hour with you ; and it is so unusual that
1915] WHITE EAGLE 809
I was, half the time, like a soul in trouble. Now, at last, I am able
to make up for it, but I am wondering where I can find you. Perhaps
you are working hard, indifferent of its being night or day; or
resting, or even, are you giving a few thoughts to me? Oh, Rex,
how far, far away you are I But it is scarcely sensible to be moaning
now, so near — I do hope and trust — the time of our meeting again.
Only I want to say one thing: wherever you may have to go in the
future, I will go also. I will remain away from you for no considera-
tion whatsoever a second time. So there. Read this sentence over, and
meditate on it, and understand it well, and remember it because I
assure you it is my last word on the subject. There I
And, now, I come back to my story.
Prince Lowinski and Maryiia arrived on Wednesday afternoon,
and were welcomed with more than mere pleasure. Tea was to be
in the oak room, and the travelers were given time to shake off the
dust of the journey before they were brought upstairs by Helena.
What a merry party we made. Rex dear! At our feet the sun was
pouring in, covering the floor with patches of light ; before us every
window frame cut out a square of bright turquoise blue, and there
were smiles on all our faces. Needless to say that, to begin with,
everyone asked questions which nobody thought of answering; but,
little by little, we became more coherent, and our curiosity was not
altogether unsatisfied. Maryna had spent a few days in C with
Joan and your mother. She was delighted with the latter, but seemed
to have got on only moderately well with the younger lady. Not that
she said as much, but whenever Nancy put a direct question about
her sister, Maryiia appeared unable to give a clear reply. There
was a vagueness about it which proved to me, once more, that Miss
Lowinska and Joan were by nature as far from each other as the
poles, and that they must have regarded each other chiefly as puzzles.
On the contrary, Mrs. Camberwell must have been at her best, as she
had made a complete conquest of our Polish friend. The latter spoke
of her ag^in and again, until I could scarcely hide a smile of amuse-
ment from Nancy's sharp eyes. You know how severe she has been
lately on your mother ; she is approaching open prejudice now.
The Prince spoke of Max, whom he had met very often while he
was alone in London ; Maryna also appeared to have seen a good deal
of him, and both have taken a fancy to the dear fellow. Another name
brought *' on the carpet " was that of Willie R . Two of his later
pictures have made a great stir ; I was so glad to hear of it. Maryna
spoke of them with great warmth, and with true artistic sense. She
also told us that he had called on her cousin, the nun, and had left, once
or twice, a huge armful of flowers for the little chapel. She said that,
of course, as she says everything, frankly and simply, without the
8io WHITE EAGLE [Sept.,
least hesitation ; yet, I could almost have taken an oath that there was
something more this time in the depths of the girl's eyes. It was so
subtle, so far off, that I was unable to analyze it, but I was aware of it
as one is conscious of a shadow drawn swiftly across a light. What
did it mean though ?
She also spoke, and with amusement, of the complete volte-face
of Millicent Marchmont. She knows that now, far from being placed
on a pedestal by the latter, she has been precipitated below her
horizon. But like us, she cannot take Millicent seriously. At least,
I suppose she does not; but what makes me hesitate in writing this
is that she added quite regretfully : " What a pity that woman throws
her brain away as she does everything else! There is so much in
her ! " However, tea came to an end ; but we had hardly finished
before the Prince was told twice that some people were awaiting him in
the library.
As for Maryna, she set about opening a bundle of letters, while
Nancy, Helena and I continued chatting, and we had for the moment
forgotten her presence when she turned to Madame Stablewska.
"Has Magda been here lately?" she asked. I did not hear
Madame Stablewska's words — she was too far from me — but Maryna
appeared concerned with the answer and she stood up.
" Then," she said in a decided manner, " I will go and see her this
evening. " She glanced at us as if hesitating an instant, but meeting
my rather inquisitive eyes she smiled.
"Will you come with me on an errand of duty, Mrs. Camberwelir
she asked. " I have left my faithful chaperon in her dear London.
She dreaded having to leave it, and my father discovered something
suitable for her there."
"Until you went back, I suppose?" Maryfia looked at me as
if my question had found her unprepared, but she replied quietly :
" She was with me for a temporary period only. She had been
recommended to my father because she knew London well. That
was all."
" I see. Shall I get ready now ? "
" If you will be so kind. It will take us some time to go as far
as the Halles;" which it did, as Miss Lowinska telephoned to the
concierge to get her not a taxi, but one of the little victorias with a
horse.
" I generally take one of these," she remarked, *' and so does my
father. These people must also have a chance of earning their
living."
I did not answer I think. Do you know that sometimes this girl
of twenty-four has a way of making me feel like an inexperienced
infant in spite of my thirty years. On this occasion slie kept the
1915] WHITE EAGLE 811
reins the whole evening, and I might as well have been an obedient
little girl. If she had been bom and bred in Paris, if every street
of it had been her private property, she could not have been more at
home in it, nor better able to dispose of everything. When we
reached the Halles and turned the comer of St. Eustache's Church,
she stopped the driver.
" Please wait for us here," she told him, " we shall be right back
in a few minutes." She left her wrap in the cab, took the man's
nimiber, and went up the steps of the old building. I must confess
that I wondered why. Not that there is anything unusual for a
Catholic to enter a church at any time of the day for a few moment's
adoration — and I followed her most willingly — ^but she had first
consulted her watch and reflected about it. However, as we crossed
the nave my eyes followed!, with a sort of fascination, the slender
Gothic lines vanishing into a roof so perfect and harmonious that one
wonders whether it does' not reach heaven. Then we went up, and
on each side of the banc d'ceuvre I saw the names of the successive
parish priests who had exercised their ministry there. A ray of light
even tipped the gold of one of them and I caught the date near it,
" 1228." And so for seven hundred years prayers have filled daily
this temple of the living God !
When we reached the chapel of the Blessed Virgin, where the
little lamp told us of the hidden Presence, Maryiia and I knelt for a
few minutes side by side, and when she stood up I again followed
her mechanically towards the door on the right. But there I stopped
in sheer surprise. She had approached the old woman who had the
care of the wax candles, and I thought she wished to get some,
until the woman's voice came distinctly to me : "Maryna Wladekowna !
May the Lord be with thee and bless thee! At last thou hast
come ! " I did not wait to hear any more, and I went back to the
darkening little chapel. So this was the woman she had come to meet
on her errand of kindness. Well! when she was ready she would
know where to find me.
I felt singularly glad to kneel there alone for a time, and I
threaded my way through the rows of chairs to a gloomy comer next
the altar. The world is dear enough to me, God knows, and I love
its warm sunshine and the dear people crowding it; yet we all know
what rest and comfort one feels in pushing it aside now and then, and
allowing pothing to stand between our inner self and the little golden
door! And so, the time slipped away, until prayer almost brought
you there with me, and others too; your mother with the look on
her face which had puzzled me lately; Max and the echo of the
discontented tone of his letters; Joan, my dear little Joan, whose
loving, tmsting face is almost a thing of the past. There, where veils
8i2 WHITE EAGLE [Sci^
are torn aside, I realized that she has changed also towards me; her
letters are now either blank or bitter or cutting-, so I hcHiestlj asked
myself where the fault lay. And I saw one thing, at any rate, which
has helped me towards this : I have been too easily satisfied that I had
done my utmost, that things were, or ought to be rig^t ; and I ha^e
taken no trouble to retain the child's confidence. I must strive to alter
this. Then I became conscious of the shadowed statue of the Im-
maculate Mother. Strange how the French artists invariably represent
her as a Queen. If she is not crowned with the lilies of France,
if the regal mantle does not cling to her shoulders, there is
still something proclaiming that she reigns here, in her own con-
secrated land: **the kingdom of Mary." The old sweet words of
Villon rose in my memory as a loving echo : " Celestial Lady, Queen-
Mother of the earth."
But by this time Miss Lowinska's errand was ended; her tall
figure was moving in my direction. I joined her noiselessly, and
we soon stood outside the softly closing doors of the church. There
Maryiia stopped before descending the steps.
You remember those steps of St. Eustache so peculiarly placed
in the angle formed by a grouping of old houses. Maryiia was
facing one of the oldest buildings with curious upper windows set
in stone carvings. Above one of these was a sort of lantern sus-
pended by an iron chain. She directed my attention to it. " I>o yoa
see this lamp?" she asked me. "Well, the window behind it is Ae
first one through which I saw Paris."
And as I looked at her thoroughly astonished she added : " The
woman I came to see to-day was my nurse. She still lives there;
and when I was a child, I was twice secretly sent abroad with her.
My father has always been a keen patriot and politician; in Poland
and Russia, as you know, politics are a dangerous game."
" I believe that. Were you ever really in danger?"
"No; my father was too careful; but these experiences have
taught us many things, and among them many of the hardships
which our compatriots endure abroad. In years gone by, the fact of
having succeeded in crossing the Russian frontier was considered the
realization of all hopes; to die of want and misery was nothing, so
long as one died free. But my father's constant wish has been to se-
cure necessary help for those of our brothers who, after unspeakable
sufferings, have yet escaped with their lives. This is the raison (fetre
of the house in which you are now, Mrs. Camberwell," she added with
a humorous smile. " I suppose you have believed yourself in a fashion-
able mansion, while all the time you were but in a hospital for ex-
convicts."
And, her serious mood vanishing completely, she laughed, ran
1915] WHITE EAGLE 813
down the steps and jumped into our cab. I followed her more
leisurely, my mind in a whirl.
" Maryna," I asked her while the cab was turning slowly round,
•"do speak sensibly? If what you say is serious, where are the ex-
convicts, and why does their hospital look like a millionaire's palace ? "
Now, the child in her was fully aroused; her great blue eyes
were sparkling with fun. " Oh, because my father is all but a million-
aire," she replied ; " and also because if our hospital looked like one,
it would have a wonderfully short existence. I could not tell you
exactly how it would come to grief, but you may depend on its
being suppressed all the same. There are many ways of killing a
dog besides drowning it, you know."
" But," I persisted, " what about the convicts ? "
" Well ! there are a reduced number just at present," she replied
teasingly. " In fact, we will have to consider you as the chief one, and
won't let you escape for ever so long."
As she said this, the remembrance of the three unknown men
crossed my mind. For a fraction of a second I felt tempted to ask
her directly who they were, but I wavered and the opportunity was
lost. Something in the street attracted the girl's attention and made
her change the subject; then we chatted on diflFerent topics, which
led us to the everlasting comparison between London and Paris. " I
could hardly say which I prefer," she concluded. " Paris is more
attractive and cheerful, but there is a wonderful sense of order and
comfort and security in London. In Paris, one never can discover
who is the responsible person for anything, while in London there
is always a director or a manager or a head of some sort whom one
can find in need."
I had to laugh. " I am afraid," I admitted, " that I almost agree
with you. Still Paris is so full of life, of charm, of light and
beauty I It is the very town to root out dullness and create art."
She shook her head. " Art, yes," she said. " Yet if some of
its artists are truly great, what a number of them are poor, miserable
creatures in every sense of the word."
" Worse than Rhodan ?" I asked mischievously.
" Infinitely worse." (She had become quite serious.)
" Then, we should congratulate ourselves on having him, perhaps ;
though, for my part, I appreciate men of a totally diflFerent type."
'* Do you mean the hideous conventional type?"
" Not at all ; I mean men like Sir Charles G , or Medford or
promising young fellows like Phillips, or even Willie R ." As I said
this, Miss Lowinska turned her large, calm eyes on mine. Without
opening her lips, she studied my expression as carefully as if she
were going to undertake a cast of my features, then she remarked :
8i4 WHITE EAGLE [Sept,
" Your friends must be very fcwid of you, Mrs. Camberwell,
and duly grateful I hope."
"Why should they be?"
" Because you spend your life thinking of their welfare," and
an odd little smile appeared on her full, well-cut lips. She placed her
firm hand on mine. "If you were not a perfect dear," she said, " I
should have, oh I such an enormous crow to pluck with you."
I think it is Paul Feval who says somewhere that if you suddenly
put your hand on any man's shoulder and said to him : " I know all
about «7," something would be sure to spring up before his mind out of
his past life, and hold him in dread. Weill on a very small scale, I
felt just like that man. What did Maryna mean? Could it be — ?
I presume I will hear of it sometime.
Paris, August, 1913.
My own dear Reginald, I am sure I shall be interrupted before I
have time to tell you all I want to, and this would be too bad, since our
feminine curiosity has, at last, been satisfied, and the keys of the
riddle left in our hands.
I do not remember if I mentioned to you that since his arrival, we
have seen very little of Prince Lowinski. He is either out, or with a
succession of callers in the library. Even if, by chance, he spends
half an hour with us in the oak room, a far off electric bell is sure
to ring from the direction of the mantelpiece — ^as it does, you re-
member, in the library — and away he goes. Madame Stablewska and
the two girls are evidently accustomed to this, and neither Nancy nor
I care to make a remark. But yesterday, as we were finishing tea,
the precious little bell began to tinkle. The Prince listened to it
thoughtfully and stood up, yet instead of going he turned towards
me.
" I wonder Mrs. Camberwell," he asked, " if you feel strong
enough and well enough to put up occasionally here with the presence
of a friend of ours, a patient I should say, as he is barely recovering
from a great amount of hardship and suffering. I had no idea that
I should ever have to tax your kindness while you were under my
roof, but what may excuse me in your eyes is that what I ask of you
is chiefly an act of charity."
" Why ! " I began, " I am perfectly well now ; and in any case—"
" Yes, yes, I know," said the Prince kindly, " I know what you arc
going to say ; but it may be more trying for you than you foresee."
"By the way," he inquired of Madame Stablewska, "Mrs. Camber-
well has heard nothing of Count Stanislaw ? "
" No," she said, simply; " nothing."
He took a few steps up and down the room, his head bent, his
hands behind his back, then he wheeled round.
1915] WHITE EAGLE 815
'' Before I say anything, Mrs. Camberwell," he observed, " tell
me this. Are you sufficiently interested in us Poles to wish to render
a service to a long oppressed nation ; or do we make too much demand
on your sympathy? Because, on no account should we consent to
impose the slightest burden on you or on your friend, Miss O'Dwyer,
though I honestly confess that we should be grateful for your joint
help at present."
" Prince Lowinski — " I began. As he heard the protest in my
tone, he put up his hand and smiled.
" Pray do not be oflFended," he pleaded, " I had to ascertain
whether I should not be taking undue advantage of your generosity
and of your friendship for us. As a rule, English people do not seem
to remember Poland. I was talking to a charming English woman the
other day ; she thought that we were now scarcely a handful, entirely
resigned to our lot, and belonging in a body to the Orthodox Russian
Church." (In his smile, one could recognize the elements of that
sense of humor so delightful in Maryiia.)
" Well ! " said I, " she was not a Catholic, because the Cath-
olic world looks on faithful Poland as on a jewel in its crown."
" Thank you," said the Prince courteously. Again he was silent ;
then he looked at us with decision. " Since everything is quite
clear," he remarked, " I may speak openly. Did anyone tell you for
what purpose this house exists?"
" Yes, Miss Lowinska did."
" Very good. At the present moment it is scarcely in use, but
it may be needed soon ag^in. You see, as late as 1905 we were mixed
in the Russian movement, and some of us — ^many of us — suffered;
among them, a man who was imprisoned for seven years. It was
with the greatest difficulty, in spite of a considerable amount of in-
fluence, that we succeeded in rescuing him from his living tomb;
and solely because, under preposterous treatment, he had become
little better than a senseless automaton. Now this man had known
things of such importance to us Poles, that nothing had been spared
by the Russian authorities to keep him alive and force him to speak.
But pressure against his will and his indomitable courage had only
resulted in killing not his reason, but his memory, so that even his
sleep could no\ betray him.
"True, this was a triumph in a sense, but a deplorable one; at
least for our party with its new system of defence founded on law,
or at any rate on more peaceful lines. It was and is losing severely
in ignoring the facts best able to push it forward. Count Stanislaw
Klonowicz knows me, knows his two sons, yet it is an impossibility
for us to bring back his recollection of the past, beyond a certain limit.
We have gone so far as to take the original servant's quarters of this
8i6 WHITE EAGLE [Sept.,
house and turn them into a semblance of his rooms of ten years ago.
He is living there with his sons; and though he may occasionally
appear on the point of remembering he has not done so; at least not
until " — Prince Lowinski paused — " until two days ago when one of
you ladies happened to play some Irish airs familiar to him." The
Prince paused again. I think he was greatly moved. As for me, I
could say nothing.
" I do not know what song it was," he went on, " because I have
heard very few of them myself, and again because neither his sons nor
I noticed what had caught the Count's attention at the moment. But
when he unexpectedly asked us whether 'our Irish friend, the journal-
ist,' was still my guest, the recollection of such a man rushed upon us
three and opened a new channel of possibilities. This was a flickering
light out of the darkness, as it is over ten years since we came across
this young man in St. Petersburg. He was attached to a well-known
English paper. Now to follow the train of his thoughts, we told
Count Klonowicz that though the journalist was gone, his sister was
here at present. Which of you ladies will consent to represent her ? "
" I wish I could," I said, " but I am not Irish enough."
" I will," volunteered Nancy, " Mrs. Camberwell is right ; she
quarrels with every Irish song she knows." And her gray eyes looked
at me half teasingly ; but I could not have bandied words with her just
then. So she added : " Besides, I am the only genuine Irish woman
here."
" The name of the young journalist was O'SuUivan," remarked
the Prince.
"A Munster man," said Nancy smiling. But her face became
grave again, and she spoke in that firm, sensible tone of hers. " I
am sure Mrs. Camberwell and I will do everything in our power to
help Count Klonowicz," she said to the Prince. "And if it depends
on our good will, the experiment ought to be a success. Is it not
so. Nemo?"
But there was something in my throat which prevented me from
answering. Prince Lowinski did not speak either; only, before going,
he pressed our hands in turn with an energy which was an eloquent
token of his gratitude.
And so, my Reginald, the mystery is solved ; and simply enough
as Nancy had predicted. (I will not dwell on the fact that when we
discussed it afterwards, her face, if not her words, expressed a trium-
phant " I told you so ;" but she is deeply interested in the proposed
experiment.) Like me, she finds it difficult to believe that what we
heard from Maryna and Helena could still be possible at the present
day. It was only when Maryna produced a reliable English news-
paper of a few months ago that we yielded to the evidence it gave.
I9IS] ' WHITE EAGLE 817
As it might be of some interest to you, I am enclosing a cutting from it,
and also a passage which I copied.
How grateful we should be not to belong to such a country! I
wonder, now that Ireland seems on the point of standing on her own
feet again, if the pity and justice of the world will not be offered to
poor crushed Poland. Juc^ng by the following, there seems a possi-
bility of its coming to pass.
May God grant it I
Russian Prison Horrors.*
** An international movement has been started with the view of
publishing throughout the civilized world facts with regard to the
ill-treatment of prisoners in Russia. Over five hundred prominent
men have resolved to appeal to the conscience of humanity against
the torture of many thousands of human beings in this way. The
step is exceedingly necessary. The Russians are a fine, a large-hearted,
and a generous people, but the methods of government in Russia are
sadly behind the age. They are in many respects barbarous, and
the most barbarous of them are those affecting the lives and prison
treatment of men and women charged with political offences. In
1906 the Tsar issued the ukase, or manifesto, promising liberty to his
subjects. During the seven years which have passed since then
over forty thousand persons have suffered in Russia for political of-
fences. Three thousand of them have been put to death and ten
thousand consigned to hard labor prisons. Others have been deported
to Siberia. A couple of years ago the prison population of Russia
numbered quite two hundred thousand, though proper prison accom-
modation is provided for only one hundred thousand. The prisoners
live under most wretched conditions and many of them are brutally
ill-used by the warders. Let us hope the international protest will do
something to relieve the bitterness and hardships of their lot."*
* Catholic Times, Liverpool, November 23, 1913. 'Author's italics.
[to be continued.]
VOL. a.— 52
view JSoobs.
HUGH: MEMOIRS OP A BROTHBR. By Arthur Christopher
Benson. New York: LongmaiB, Green & Co. $1.75 net
The object of Mr. A. C. Benson in giving to the public this
appreciation of his brother, has been to describe the intimate cir-
cumstances and influences which went to the moulding of that vivid
and intense personality, and to accentuate, from that best vantage-
point in the world, the family circle, the human and personal aspect
of his character. It is not, as he states, a formal biografrfiy; still
less is it a spiritual study. There are times when, being, as the
writer admits, "poles apart" in religious thought, he is unable
to interpret the motives or grasp the principles which animated and
ruled the conduct of his brother. For that we must go to Monsignor
Benson himself — ^to his- letters, his Confessions, his poems, and his
fiction : these are a more simple and direct revelation.
In the matter of his conversion, for instance, Mr. Benson sug-
gests that Hugh was temperamentally attracted to the Church of
Rome, though he palliates the suggestion by admitting also his
sincere conviction of its claims. This is altogether admissible.
Monsignor Benson has himself pointed out that it matters not by
what road we seek, provided we find and surrender to the reality.
The secret of his conversion lay, primarily, neither with his inclina-
tion nor with his temperament: indeed, according to Mr. Benson
himself, it ran directly counter to both. It was rather the result
of extreme simplicity of purpose and directness of thought, under-
lying an active and versatile exterior; of that very humanness on
which Mr. Benson dwells, and which, beneath the intricacies of
individual temperament, is inevitably attracted to objective truth.
With an affectionate and touching earnestness, to which these
pages abundantly and eloquently testify, the writer has endeavored
to fill in the human outlines, to penetrate the hidden depths, of his
brother's personality. Neither human sympathy nor perspicuity
of mind were lacking in the endeavor, yet his failure is as complete
as it is pathetic. He himself appears to realize, with a sense of
disappointment, the locked chamber, the hidden centre in Hugh's
nature whose " wall of partition " has not succumbed to his attack.
They stood on totally different planes.
Nevertheless, this account is an altogether and rarely delightful
bk
:* if
1915.] NEIV BOOKS 819
one. It is less a narration than an introduction into a very charming
family circle. Charmingly intimate and lucid is the description of
Monsignor Benson in his childhood, his boyhood, his Anglican
days; of his activities since his conversion, and, finally, of' those
impressive last moments " himself to the very end in
command of the scene with a courage so great that he did not
even lose his interest in the last experiences of life." And yet, even
in that supreme moment, his brother did not fully discover the main-
spring of the divinely confident courage, of the mystic's passage
from life to Life.
The book throws some incidental and interesting sidelights on
present tendencies and conditions in the Church of England.
The Anglican Church [writes Mr. Benson] claims and exer-
cises very little authority at all. Each individual bishop has
considerable discretionary power, and some allow a far wider
liberty of action than others. In all cases, divergences of
doctrine and practice are dealt with by personal influence, tact,
and compromise, and force majeure is invoked as little as pos-
sible It is hard to justify the system logically and theor-
etically, but it may be said that the methods of the Church have
at least been national, in the sense that they have suited the
national temperament, which is independent and averse to coer-
cive discipline Of late the influence of the English Church
has been mainly exerted in the cause of social reform, and
her tendency is more and more to condone divergences of
doctrine and opinion in the case of her ministers when they are
accompanied by spiritual fervor and practical activity
Religion is recognized as a matter of personal preference, and
the agnostic creed has lost much of its aggressive definiteness.
This is not a cloudless nor cheering prospect for promoters of
" corporate reunion," and emphasizes, from the vantage-ground of
expediency, as well as duty, the wisdom of those who, like Mon-
signor Benson, have borne their individual testimony to the truth,
and sought the impregnable security of the Church built on the rock.
THOMAS DAVIS: THE THINKER AND TEACHER. The Es-
sence of his Writings in Prose and Poetry. Edited by Arthur
Griffith. Dublin : M. H. Gill & Son.
Every lover of Ireland will welcome these selections from the
works of the great Irish patriot, Thomas Davis. His famous review.
The Nation, first taught the Irish people the necessity of regaining
their native Parliament at all costs. While he did not invent Irish
820 NEIV BOOKS [Sept,
nationalism, which was centuries old, " he found it neglected, half-
derided, choked with abominations, and he restored it to its altar,
interpreted it to the people, and taught them how their forces should
be marshaled and directed in its behalf."
In his preface, Mr. Griffith draws a sharp contrast between
O'Connell and Davis. He writes: "O'Connell discouraged the
national language 'and peculiar customs of his coimtry, and pointed
the path of progress through assimilation, while Davis taught it was
better for an Irishman to live in rags and dine on potatoes than to
become Anglicized. O'Connell's ideal Ireland was a smaller and
happier England, while Davis' ideal Ireland conflicted with English
civilization at every point. O'Connell was a political i^ilanthro-
pist — Davis a nationalist.'.'
OUTLINES OF EUROPEAN HISTORY. Part I. The Orient,
Greece and Rome, Europe from the Break-up of the Roman
Empire to the Opening of the Eighteenth Century. By J. H.
Robinson and J. H. Breasted.
Part II. From the Opening of the Eighteenth Century to the
Present Day. By J. H. Robinson and C. A. Beard. New
York: Ginn & Co. $1.50 each.
The authors in their preface say rightly that the older historical
manuals gave too much space to past events as distinct from past
conditions and past institutions, and gave too little information in
regard to recent history. They aim at avoiding these defects " first
by frankly subordinating the mere happenings of the past to a clear
statement of the conditions under which men lived for long periods
and of the ideas which they held; and, second, by devoting about
half of the work to the past two htmdred years which concern us
most immediately."
The book is well arranged for the classroom, and the mapy
maps and illustrations are excellently well done. It is a great pity,
however, that a work intended primarily for our high school students
should be so dominated from first to last by utter unbelief and
rationalism. The writers differ from many of the textbook writers
of the past by holding no special brief for Protestantism against
Catholicism, but they evidently feel like crying out " a plague on
both your houses."
Judging by their bibliography as well as their text, they show
no Imowledge of Catholic authorities. Gasquet, Walsh, Pastor
1915] NEIV BOOKS 821
Alzog, and Montalembert seem to be the sum total of their totally
inadequate list. McGiffert's superficial work is cited on Martin
Luther, while no mention is made of Grisar or Denifle; Lea is cited
on the Inquisition, Sabatier on the Life of St. Francis, Morley on
Voltaire, Hamack on Monasticism, etc.
A most inadequate and inaccurate accoimt is given of the begin-
nings of Christianity, the early Church, the development of the
Papacy, the spirit of the mediaeval mind, the Crusades, the Inquisi-
tion, the Council of Trent, the Reformation, the massacre of St.
Bartholomew, the condemnation of Galileo, the Jesuits and their
suppression, etc. We are told many things that are not so, viz.,
that the Church did not become Catholic until the third century; that
the literary work of Gregory the Great was childish; that Trent
declared the Latin Vtdgate the standard of belief ; that Charles V,
had no deep religious sentiments; that at least twelve thousand
Protestants were probably killed on St. Bartholomew's day; that
Queen Elizabeth reluctantly signed the death warrant of Mary
Queen of Scots ; that the persecution of Christians in India, China
and Japan was due either to the arrogance of the bishops or the folly
of the missionaries, who rudely denounced the ancient culture of the
East, etc
THE PRIESTHOOD AND SACRIFICE OF OUR LORD JESUS
CHRIST. By J. Grimal, S.M. Translated by M. J. Keyes,
S.M. Philadelphia: John Joseph McVey. $1.75 net
The purpose of this volume, as the author states in his intro-
duction, " is not so much to prove the dogma of the priesthood as to
cause it to be dwelt upon, so that from its consideration there may
be drawn vital conclusions concerning our greatness, our obligations,
and our strength as priests It is a treatise of dogmatic theol-
ogy developed with a view to piety."
Part I. (Preparation) treats of the idea of sacrifice among the
pagans and the Jews; Part II. (Realization) treats of the priest-
hood of Jesus Christ and the altar of the Cross; Part III. (The
Heavenly Consimimation) treats of the consummation in heaven of
the unique sacrifice of the Cross; and Part IV. (The Eucharistic
Prolongation) treats of the Holy Eucharist as a sacrifice and a
Sacrament.
We recommend this book highly to priests, who will find it most
helpful in renewing their first fervor, and to seminarians who wish
to realize the true nature and dignity of the priesthood.
822 NEW BOOKS [Sept,
JOHH HUSS: HIS LIFE, TEACHDIGS AVD DEATH. By
David S. SchaflF, D.D. New York : Charles Scribner's Sons.
$2.50 net.
The tone of this life of John Huss may be estimated by the
blasphemous statement made by Dr. Schaff on page 2 : " It is
doubtful, if we except the sufferings and death of Jesus Christ,
whether the forward movement of religious enlightenment and
human freedom have been advanced as much by the sufferings and
death of any single man as by the death of Huss." Instead of
writing objective history, the prejudiced Professor of Church
History in the West<em Theological Seminary has written a bit of
sixteenth century Protestant polemics.
Huss, the obstinate, conceited, unscholarly, popular preacher,
becomes, in the hands of his panegyrist, a valiant champion of the
rights of conscience, and a noble martyr to liberty of thought
The historical misstatements in this volume are legion. We
arc told, for instance, that celibacy was not enforced in Bohemia
until the thirteenth century; that the mediaeval imiversities did not
owe their origin to the Popes; that the numbers given of die
attendance at these imiversities have been grossly exaggerated; that
Archbishop Cranmer of England had a great deal of zeal for
religious reform; that indulgences were sold by the Popes in the
fifteenth century; that Alexander of Hales was the first to insist
upon confession to a priest being necessary for salvation ; that the
Council of Constance taught that faith was not to be kept with a
heretic; that the Jesuits of the sixteenth century tried to Wot out
the fame of Huss by magnifying the cult of St John Nepomuk;
that Fathers Denifle and Grisar are most unfair in their bitter
attacks upon Luther's purity of life; that the victims of the Inquisi-
tion were without number, etc
In his discussion of Huss' safe-conduct, Dr. Schaff endeavors
to show that the Emperor Sigismund broke his pledge to Huss, and
that in ignoring it the Council acted on the principle that no promise
or faith ought to be kept with heretics. And yet he himsdf admits
that : " Huss on leaving Prague for Constance seems to have put
his case unreservedly in the hands of the Council. In case he did
not establish his orthodoxy, he expressed himself ready to suffer
the penalty meted out to heretics." As a matter of fact, Huss made
the journey to Constance, and entered into the city without ever
having received the safe-conduct It was dated at Spires, October
18, 1414, and reached Constance after Huss' arrival on Novem-
1915] NEIV BOOKS 823
ber 5, 1414. A mediaeval safe-conduct was nothing more nor less
than a passport, whidi in no sense freed a criminal from the conse-
quences of his crime. Huss was a criminal according to mediaeval
law. The Council of G)nstance gave him a fair trial, pronounced
him a heretic, and then handed him over to the secular power to be
burned at the stake. Heresy in those days was looked upon as a
greater crime than treason, and long before the Inquisition was
estaUished, heretics had been l3rnched by indignant mobs.
Huss was in no sense an original thinker; he borrowed all his
heresies from Wyclif, whose writings had come to Prague about the
banning of the fifteenth century. Like many another heretic, he
was tireless in his professions of orthodoxy, while declaiming against
Papal authority, the true idea of the Qiurch, ecclesiastical censures,
the Church's condemnation of Wyclif, and the like.
SPIRITUAL LETTERS TO ONE OF HIS CONVERTS. By
Robert Hugh Benson. New York: Longmans, Green & Co.
$1.00 net.
In this first-published volume of Monsignor Benson's corre-
spondence, we have an aspect of the writer perhaps more intimate
and personal than any which we have hitherto received.
Mr. A. C. Benson, who furnishes a short but admirable preface,
truly observes that these letters "illustrate in a very peculiar way
some of [Monsignor Benson's] most marked characteristics, not
only his enthusiasm and swift expressiveness, but his eager desire
to respond to every call and claim for sympathy and interest, as well
as his grace of loyal and continuous kindness."
The letters are grouped under six headings, and form an inter-
esting biographical sequence. The first group dates from the
writer's own Anglican days, and in subsequent letters we see the
soul of one of his former retreatants guided into the fold and
eventually directed to the religious life. Detachment, implicit con-
fidence, and union with the divine will are the keynotes of his
counsel; and with wisely-measured reproof, encouragement, and
sympathy, with a directness at once imperative and tender, he leads
the soul along these divine paths to the fullness of its life in God.
Many of the earlier letters serve to illustrate his attitude toward
the truth, and the spirit of personal humility and childlike confidence
in which he made his submission to the Church. This very quality
of trustful obedience was the result of a direct and incisive mind
that went straight to its mark, and lodged there with unshakeable
824 NEW BOOKS [Sept.,
security. " Letters from Rome " breathe on every page the joy of
the child come home, the jubilant sense of possessing, and being one
with all that he hears and sees about him.
The volume contains a number of letters to a beginner in the
literary field. They are of interest as showing the framework on
which Monsignor Benson wrought his own peculiarly suggestive
and virile works. They exhibit, too, his gift of personal friendship,
that spent itself in matters temporal as well as spiritual, and that
considered nothing too trivial for his interest and solicitude.
To those who have felt the attraction of Monsignor Benson's
written or spoken word, the Spiritual Lettefs will give a view
of his personality none the less satisfying because composed of
broken, kaleidoscopic glimpses and significant details. The style
retains the effectiveness of his more finished work, and its unpon-
dered spontaneity. It is, in fact, this combined ardor and simplicity
of vision that spells the secret of Monsignor Benson's magnetism,
and his success in the many fields covered by his activity.
LIFE OF SISTER ROSALIE: A SISTER OF CHARITY.
Translated from the French of Viscount de Melun by Hon.
Joseph D. Fallon, LL.D. Norwood: The Plimpton Press.
$i.oo.
This admirable work of the Viscount de Melun, which has
been crowned by the French Academy, is a serious and s)mipathetic
study of the life of one of St. Vincent de Paul's noblest daughters.
Through a long and arduous career of charity in one of the most
sordid sections of Paris, a career of ceaseless self-immolation in
the interests of suffering humanity, Sister Rosalie was the advocate
and refuge of the poor; she relieved their misery, she reconciled
them with God. Her sanctity was preeminently active and was
served by rare qualities of intellect and personality, and executive
genius of a high order.
The biography of Sister Rosalie is a remarkable record of
the wide field to which human activity may be applied when
sustained and inspired by a divine motive and spiritual strength.
The author has, in an unobtrusive way, left upon the work the
impress of his own personality, of a mature wisdom and an intel-
ligent faith, and the biography will prove an undoubted source
of interest and edification to its readers.
The inefficiency of the translation is to be regretted. The
writer's meaning is not infrequently complicated^ and obscured by
ipiSl NEW BOOKS 825
the too literal rendering of the phraseology. It will, nevertheless,
serve to acquaint many with the life and labors of this remarkable
woman, and inspire them with the example of a singularly ardent
and beautiful character.
THE PEDAGOGICAL VALUE OF THE VIRTUE OF FAITH
AS DEVELOPED IN THE RELIGIOUS NOVITIATE. By
Brother Chrysostom, F.S.C. Philadelphia : John Joseph Mc-
Vey. $1.00 net.
No one doubts that the personal character of the teacher is a
prime factor in true education. Yet in only twenty-two per cent
of the normal schools of this country is any distinct effort made to
train our future educators to be men and women of principle, who
believe in, reverence and acknowledge Almighty God by word and
work, and are moved by spiritual and future goods rather than by
the material and present. On the other hand, the novitiate of a
religious community, the spiritual normal school, does fully fit its
members for life and for their specific tasks. Its silence and
seclusion; its regular round of prayer, study, and labor; the per-
severing praise and practice of all that is best; the unequivocal
advocacy of faith in God unite to make it the ideal place of prepara-
tion. No one who has given a novitiate a fair trial will hesitate to
say, with Brother Chrysostom, that the novitiate renders a real peda-
gogical service to society. We need to bring outsiders to realize
this. For such a purpose the present treatise is admirably adapted.
Its scholarly character is attested by the fact that it has been accepted
as a thesis for the doctorate in philosophy at the Catholic University
of America. The author will publish shortly other aspects of the
virtue of faith, viz., the psychological, the biological, and the socio-
logical, making, with the present volume, a completed work of great
interest and permanent value.
PIERROT, DOG OF BELGIUM. By Walter A. Dyer. Garden
City, N. Y. : Doubleday, Page & Co. $1.00 net.
For dog-lovers, young and old, and especially those who know
and love the great Flemish work dogs, who have played so important
a part in the industrial life of Belgium, the present tale will have a
deep and most touching appeal.
We are introduced to Pierrot in the days of his awkward
puppyhood, and follow his training, his characteristics, his indus-
trious and pleasant life, gaining incidental insights into Belgian
8a6 NEW BOOKS [Sept,
family life. Then conies the Great War — ^like a sudden doud on
a dear horizon — ^and for Pierrot and his masters, the Van Hnyks,
life assumes an altered aspect. Pierrot is " drafted " and sent to
the front for military service. We catch broken glimpses of one
little comer of the war, of its grimness, its pathos, its sordid misery.
Treatment both kindly and cruel is meted out to Pierrot, until at
last, suffering, half-starved, drawn by the home-himger, he hobbles
his way back on three pathetic legs, to the friendly cirde of the
Van Huyks.
Few dry eyes will follow the story to its close, a story all the
more touching because the events are related unemotionally and,
contrary to precedent, with a simplicity quite consistent with dog-
psychology. Its character is even more appealing that Ouida's
Dog of Flanders, for present actuality brings it home more con-
vindngly to our imagination. We see in Pierrot, real dog though
he was, in tiny Lisa and Henri and the Van Huyks, with their
charred and ruined home, in the rough invader and the gentle
Bavarian peasant soldiers; in Pere Jean, obeying with simple
promptness the call of his country, not isolated individuals, but
types of thousands of men and women, and pitiful dumb animals,
whose lives and homes have been swallowed up by the great whirl-
pool of war.
SOCIALISM AS THE SOCIOLOGICAL IDEAL. By Floyd J.
Melvin, Ph.D. New York: Sturgis & Walton. $1.25 net
Dr. Melvin has written a vague and superficial account of
Socialism from the sociological viewpoint. He finds fault at the
outset with the many descriptive definitions of Socialism, and then
confidently hazards his own contribution to the already long list
of descriptions. We give his own beautifully indefinite phrasii^:
" Socialism is the social system which seeks, by means of the sodal
control of heredity and environment, to direct the further progress
of civilization in accordance with the ideals arising through sodal
self-consciousness."
He is continually telling his readers that Socialism is domin-
antly Christian, but it is " a Christianity without supernatural sanc-
tions, and subject to new constructions." When Socialism comes
to her own — ^and our author prophesies that it will certainly be the
next step in the evolution of sodety — " religion will for the first
time be really free, and not the mere instrument of econ<Mnic forces
as so universally to-day." Men are going to become Sodalists,
19151 NEW BOOKS B27
because they are " tired of a theology that is enlisted in the support
of institutions of privilege, and despair of a satisfactory voicing
of their own spiritual aspirations from a subsidized pulpit" Of
course this religion and Christianity of the future will make the
world perfectly alive to the love of the neighbor, while ignoring the
love of God.
CHILDREN OF EARTH. A Play of New England. By Alice
Brown. New York: The Macmillan G). $1.25.
It is well that this " American Prize Play " should be published,
for curiosity may lead to an extensive reading of a valuable acquisi-
tion to dramatic literature. Those of us who are familiar with
Miss Brown's imsurpassed stories of New England rural life, would
naturally expect the scene of her venture into dramatic composition
to be laid in the field in which her great talept first displayed itself ;
nor was ansrthing less to be expected from her than the delicate
fancy, the flashes of shrewd insight and unforced humor, tiie
warmth of sympathy and the quiet power in which this play abotmds.
It is in her novel and most acceptable handling of an old theme that
the author has achieved fresh distinction. She has presented the
" eternal triangle " — ^this time, the woman, the man, and the man's
wife — ^in an unaccustomed setting, a New England farming village.
We are under the spell of her charm as we follow this story of a
middle-aged woman, whose youth was crushed by tyrannous oppres-
sion, snatching at the opportunity of tmsanctioned happiness with
a man whose wife has blighted his existence. The art with whidi
this last unfortunate is made the instrument of salvation of all three
is as fine as the instinct which inspired it. Best and most unusual
of all is the attitude taken when planning the readjustment of their
lives, so narrowly retrieved. The view of the modem author,
dramatist or novelist, appears to be that to resist this particular
temptation is to make a Juggernaut sacrifice which leaves life with-
out interest and imprisons the sotd within dark, narrow walls. As
far from this as east from west is the sane high-heartedness of Miss
Brown's characters. There is no insecure exaltation. When Peter,
after the righteous decision, alludes casually to the beginning of a
prosaic task and Mary Ellen responds : "Ain't it wonderful to have
things to do? " we understand that the reconstruction will be built
of homely and durable material, shaped imder skies that, if not
glowing with rich color, are at all events luminous and serene.
The play is not faultless, but it is a work of art whose merits
828 NEW BOOKS [ScpL,
far outweigh its failings. To read it is to give cordial approbation
to the taste and judgment of those who awarded it the prize.
A brief explanatory note, relative to the competition, prefaces
the content.
THE SHOES OF HAPPINESS. By Edwin Maridiam. Garden
City, N. Y. : Doubleday, Page & G). $1.20 net
Mr. Markham spreads his viands sparingly to an appreciative
public, for though his pen has been far from inactive in the interval,
it is fourteen years since he has published a volume of verse.
Fastidiousness is, however, the first mark of the true poet, and the
cedar chest of Horace, a rigorous but reliable test of literary worth.
The poetical contents of the present collection have appeared in
various magazines throughout the country. They cover a wide
range of subjects : love, nature, poems of the " social vision," of
religion, and a number of naniative poems of Oriental and mediaeval
setting,
Mr. Markham excels in narration. He has the freshness, the
lyric buoyancy, the imagery, the color and zest indispensible to the
art of the story-teller. The Shoes of Happiness, the title poem,
is Oriental in character. Its subtle fret-work of movanent and color
and rh3rthm, combines the glamour of the East and the music of the
West. His poetry reveals no nebulous impressionism. We may
rather compare it to an exquisite piece of Cellini silver, careful
and delicate in its contour and modulation, the product, as a rule,
of deep and genuine art.
The poet's religious thought, as expressed in this volume,
strikes, alas, many a false note, that of Pantheism being particularly
resonant. The writer acclaims himself "part of That behind it
all," " brother to the meanest clod," and the whole of creation as
" one upon the mighty wheel." Not " in the dust of broken altars,"
but in nature alone, he claims to find "the God" Whom he has sought •
It is not strange, therefore, that the imhappy influence of fatalism
has breathed itself into a nimiber of his stanzas.
Mr. Markham uses Christ for his poetic purposes, but looks
upon Him with Hellenistic eyes, seeing not the " Man of Sorrows,"
but the "Child of Mystery," the personification of beauty, and
strength, and power. Indeed, he depicts the ancient divinities kneel-
ing " beside the stall " of the Infant God, that they may own in
Him " Apollo come again."
For many years Mr. Maridiam has been hailed as the poet of
1915] NEIV BOOKS 829
democratic liberty, but the poems in this category are, with one
exception, a trifle shrill and tmconvindng. There is a vein of
passion in them, but impressiveness and solid dignity are lacking.
If we would forgive Mr. Markham his inadequacies we must revert
to his narrative poems. These are diflictdt to surpass, and together
with the poem which made his fame, sufficiently justify the rank
accorded him among contemporary American poets.
WHO BXJILT THE PANAMA CANAL? By W. Leon Pepperman.
New York: E. P. Dutton & Co. $2.00 net.
Mr. Pepperman was the chief of the Office of Administration
under Mr. Theodore P. Shonts, the Chairman of the Second Isth-
mian Commission, which took charge of the building of the Panama
Canal in 1905. While according full credit to Colonel Goethals and
the army administration which completed the Canal, he does not
think that justice has been done Mr. Shonts, his chief engineer,
John F. Stevens, and the splendid body of railroad men whose
services made the Canal a certainty. He calls attention to the
astonishing fact that of the seven most recent books published on
the Panama Canal, the authors — some of them intentionally — ^prac-
tically ignored the services rendered the nation by the present
President of the Interborough Company of New York City.
The building of the Panama Canal he considers primarily a
task of construction, a work of excavation and transportation, and
one requiring necessarily the application of methods of practical
administration. From this viewpoint it was a most important
undertaking, but as a feat of technical engineering it has often been
stupassed. He declares that the construction of New York City's
subways, the building of the Grand Central Station, and the devel-
opment of the largest water-power plant in the world at Keokuk,
Iowa, all required the application of a higher degree of engineering
skill than the Panama Canal.
Mr. Pepperman gives due honor to the preliminary work done
by the French, commends Mr. Roosevelt for his questionable seizure
of the Panama zone, and for the first time in history shows dearly
that the railroad regime of 1905-1906 made the Canal a possibility.
In the opening chapter of his book he tells a story of Philip II.
worthy of a comic sheet. In 1567, Philip II. sent an engineer to
survey a route across Nicaragua, but "he piously gave up the
project when his spiritual advisers pointed out to him the probability
that the Creator had an Isthmian Canal in mind when he issued
830 NEIV BOOKS [ScpL,
the admonition: 'What God has joined together let no man pot
asunder/ " Surely Mr. Pq>perman has no sense of humor.
ESSAYS ON BOOKS. By William Lyon Phelps. New York:
The Macmillan Co. $1.50 net.
Professor Phelps of Yale has gathered together in this enter-
taining volume a number of his published essays on English,
American and German writers. They consist of brief outlines of
the lives and dear-cut appreciations of the work of Richardson,
Jane Austen, Carlyle, Dickens, Mark Twain, Schiller, Lessing, etc.
Of Richardson he writes : " His realism was bolder and more
honest than Fielding's He refused absolutely to follow advice
that conflicted with his aim and method. He knew his work was
original, and he fully trusted only the instincts of his own heart"
Jane Austen is praised as one of the supreme literary artists of
the world. We think Mr. Phelps overrates both Mark Twain and
Dickens. He calls the former " one of the foremost humorists
of modem times," and inclines to be of those who would class him
with Rabelais, Cervantes and Moliere. To Dickens he assigns " the
biggest place in English fiction."
The professor holds that formal creeds in religion are unsatis-
factory, and yet we were glad to find him quoting the words of
Paul Heyse, "that humanity can never exist without religion.
Science and Monism can never fill any place in the human heart"
THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD. By Fyodor Dostoevsky. From
the Russian by Constance Gamett New York: The Mac-
millan Co. $1.50 net.
This new translation of Dostoevsky's Letters from a Dead
House is one of a series of excellent translations of his works, four
of which — The Brothers Karamazov, The Idiot, The Possessed,
Crime and Punishment — ^have already been published by The Mac-
millan Co.
This gruesome tale of prison life was the fruit of the writer's
four years in Siberia. It revealed to the world the tyranny, cruelty,
and injustice which characterized the Russian military despotism of
some sixty years ago. The author describes in sickening detail the
frequent use of the knout for the most trivial causes, the unsanitary
conditions of the prison cells and hospitals, the poor food, the
dnmkenness and immorality of the convicts, etc.
Many rank Dostoevsky second, if not first, in Russian literature.
U^
I9IS1 f^EfV BOOKS 891
Some Russians certainly deem him greater than Tolstc^. No writer
ever entered so deeply into the soul of the suffering and abandoned
criminal ; no writer ever pictured more vividly the convict's many
virtues and vices. His plea for humane treatment, though ignored
at the time, has been heeded at last, even by Russians who know
that '' humane treatment may htunanize even one in whom the image
of God has long been obscured."
THE SUHHY SIDE OF DIPLOMATIC LIFE. By L. de Heger-
mann-Lindencrone. New York : Harper Brothers. $2.00 net.
Madame de Hegermann-Lindencrone is the wife of the re-
cently-retired Danish minister to Germany. She was formerly
Miss Lily Greenough of Cambridge, Massachusetts. In the present
volume she gives to the world some hundreds of letters written
during her stay in various European capitals : Rome, Stockholm,
Paris, Berlin, and Washington. The letters are gossipy and chatty
in tone, and are concerned chiefly with the author's conversations
with prominent men or women, and with details of innumerable
luncheons, balls, receptions, and soirees. Besides the kings, queens,
and princes of Italy, Sweden, Denmark and Germany, we interview
such different characters as Buffalo Bill and Massenet, Blaine and
Colonel Picquard, Liszt and Longfellow, Grieg and John Hay,
Crispi and Bjomson. Most of the conversations recorded are trivial
in the extreme, but the author thinks them worth repeating because
uttered by men or women of prominence. She shows great lack
of delicacy in ridiculing her kindly hosts in California, by mention-
ing the pa)rment of five francs an hour to the composer Massenet,
and by the constant reference to compliments paid her own singing.
A BEACON FOR THE BLIND. By Winifred Holt. Boston:
Houghton Mifilin Co. $2.50 net
As Mr. Brice says in his preface : " There has been no more
striking example in our time of how self-reliance and strength of
purpose can triumph Over adverse fortune than that presented by
the c^eer of Henry Fawcett." His life reads indeed like a ro-
mance. While patridge hunting with his father in 1858, some stray
shot from his father's gun penetrated his eyes, blinding him instantly.
He was twenty-seven at the time, but, undaunted, he determined on
a public career despite his terrible handicap. After a bitter fight
he became Professor of Political Economy at Cambridge, where he
832 NEW BOOKS [Sept,
lectured for years. Defeated in three contests, he was elected to
Parliament on the fourth trial, and served a number of terms.
His chief work in Parliament was saving the commons and
forests of England for the people, and his vehement defence of the
poor people of India from oppression. In 1880, Gladstone offered
him the Postmaster-Generalship. During his term of office be
improved the postal service with regard to the parcel post, the issuing
of postal orders, the receipt of small savings in stamps, the increas-
ing of the facilities for Ufe insurance ^nd annuities, and by reducing
the price of telegrams.
He could not bear to hear people assume a patronizing tone
toward the blind. His cry in many a public speech was : " Da not
wall us up in institutions, but let us live as other men live." Not
one man out of a million could have accomplished what he did, and
maintain throughout his cheerfulness and good spirits. He was not
only an indefatigable walker, but also an enthusiastic and reckless
skater and rider.
SISTER GERTRUDE MART. " A Mystic of Our Own Days."
From the French of Canon Stanislas L^^eu. With a Preface
by Dom Bede Camm, O.S.B. New York : Benziger Brothers.
90 cents.
Following shortly upon L'Histoire d'une Ame, of Soeur
Th^rese de Lisieux, and Laudem GloruB, come the memoirs of
Sister Gertrude Mary of the Community of St Charles, Angers.
These extracts from her diary, written in obedience to her director,
are more a record of the signal graces and divine favors bestowed
on this " perfectly simple and frank soul " than a {Jiptailed description
of the process of her spiritual development
The Rev. Edouard Hugon, O.P., attests to the genuine
character of the events narrated in these pages, and cites, in
support of this opinion, the remarkable humility of the little nun,
her distrust of self, her desire for reparation and union with God,
her intimate and almost uninterrupted relations with Our Lord and
the Blessed Virgin, and the growth and efflorescence of virtue in
her soul.
In this materialistic age, the evidences of the " world invisible "
are more infrequent than in the Ages of Faith; precious, Aerefore,
are the revelations of souls, steeped in the supernatural, who have
their conversation in heaven, for whom the curtain of things present
would appear to have lifted before the appointed time; souls emptied
1915] NEW BOOKS 833
of self, and whose sole interests are for God and the salvation of
souls. Of such truly was the writer of these spiritual memoirs.
" Love/* she cries, " has chosen me. Love has called me, I yield
myself up to Love by love.'* Sister Mary Gertrude expresses her
intimate conviction of her own littleness in the following words:
" The Infinite seems to forget what He is and what I am. He
forgets His greatness and dignity, in order to stoop to my nothing-
ness. O God, what art Thou doing? "
Her cry is that of St. Francis of Sales: "Give me souls!"
and to her prayers Dom Bede Camm, in his preface, attributes the
conversions of Caldey, which she appears to have foretold in a
remarkable manner.
This book, as states one of the introductory letters, will serve
to persons living in the world, not only as a " practical proof of the
supernatural well calculated to strengthen their faith and
rekindle their piety," but as a testimony of the power of the invisible
bonds forged by prayer and the efficacy of a life immolated and
hidden vjith Christ in God.
ON SUNSET HIGHWAYS. By Thomas D. Murphy. Boston:
The Page Co. Cloth, $3.00; morocco, $6.00 net.
Mr. Murphy has written a charming book of his motor rambles
in California. He says rightly that one cannot get the best idea
of this wonderful State from the railway train, but that the motor
takes one into the deepest recesses of mountain and valley, and to
the most unfrequented nooks along the seashore. He describes
particularly the country about Los Angeles, the inland route to
San Diego, the imperial valley in the San Diego back country, Santa
Barbara, Monterey, and the Qear Lake Valley. This book will
prove an invaluable guide to the motorist who is anxious to profit by
the experiences of an expert. Although he takes pains to tell us he
is not a Catholic, Mr. Murphy always speaks most enthusiastically
of the old Spanish missions of California, and of the priests in
charge, and their cordial welcome.
THE STRAIGHT PATH. By Rev. M. J. Phelan, S.J. New
York: Longmans, Green & Co. 80 cents.
Father Phelan has written a clear and interesting volume on the
four marks of the Church and the Infallibility of the Pope. It is
an excellent book to give to a non-Catholic who is studying the
Church's claims, for it is entirely free from controversial bitterness.
VOL. a.— 53
834 NEW BOOKS [Sept,
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AS A CRITIC. By Joseph J. Reilly.
New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons. $1.25 net.
In this analytical study, Dr. Reilly assails what he calls " the
Lowell tradition." He unhesitatingly admits Lowell's position as
the greatest of American men of letters, but contends that the
eminence is not his by right of his qualities as a critic. ** To assign
him such a rank is to do him the injustice of over-estimation."
That Lowell was provincial to an extent that impaired his perceptive
powers; that he was essentially an impressionist; that his judgment
was based on feeling, not thought; that he was temperamentally
incapable of setting aside his personal preferences and referring to
ultimate principles the matter under consideration, and that the
deference paid to his dicta is because of their great quotability;
these may be stated as the author's main points. The attitude is
discriminative, not depreciatory. When his judgment coincides
with Lowell's, Dr. Reilly calls upon us to share his enthusiasm
for some bit of brilliant penetration or beauty of expression.
Presumably, the book is for students. It is written concisely,
introducing nothing superfluous; but the author's mastery of his
subject is apparent on every page, and in what is incidentally said
concerning the science of criticism, there is so much illumination
that a live interest is provided for all readers who value genuine
criticism and desire its perpetuation.
A RUSSIAN COMEDY OF ERRORS. By George Kennan. New
York: The Century Co. $1.25 net.
In ten stirring chapters, George Kennan pictures for us the
revolutionary movement in Russia, the injustice of its law courts,
the barbarity of its prisons, and the persecuting spirit of the Russian
clergy. The book takes its name from the first sketch in the volume,
which describes the troubles of an American drummer with the
Russian police. As he says in his telegram home to Indianapolis :
" They jail a man in Russia if he mentions soap, if he sells fuel-
cartridges or if his name is Gordon."
HILLSBORO PEOPLE. By Dorothy Canfield. New York : Henry
Holt& Co. $1.35 net.
The stories of Vermont life which form the content of this
volume are not of the highest grade of literary merit nor originality.
The author has struck no new note in either character or environ-
ment, nor, with the exception of In Memory of H. L. IV., are the
1915] NEW BOOKS 835
stories in themselves such as linger in the mind. They are, however,
sufficiently well written, with an easy, sympathetic touch, and as a
whole the book is agreeable reading.
The Occasional Vermont Verses, by Sarah N. Cleghom,
neither give nor gain benefit from being interspersed. One or two
of them are rather pretty. The average of ability displayed is about
that of the prose with which they are in juxtaposition.
THE WOLF HUNTERS. By George B. Grinnell. New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons. $1.25 net.
The Wolf Hunters, a tale of the buffalo plains in the winter of
1862, is founded on the manuscript account of Robert Morris Peck
of the First United States Cavalry. It was the custom in early days
for parties of three or four men to camp on the plains of the far
west and spend the winter " wolfing.'* They would kill a number
of buffalo, and then poison the carcasses with strychnine. The
wolves that fed on these carcasses died near them, and their pelts
were taken to camp to be stretched and dried. The story tells in
stirring fashion of the adventures of three ex-soldier trappers with
the Jayhawkers of Kansas and the hostile Kiowa Indians.
BIBLICAL LIBRARIES. By E. C. Richardson, Librarian of
Princeton University. Princeton : Princeton University Press.
$1.25.
This volume gives us a brief sketch of the history of libraries
from 3400 B. c. to A. D. 150. After a preliminary chapter on what
really constitutes a library, the writer gives an excellent account of
libraries in the Babylonian period, the patriarchal period, the Egypt-
ian period, in the times of the Judges, of Saul and the Kings prior
to the Captivity, in the Persian and Greek periods, etc. Roman
libraries and buildings in apostolic and post-apostolic times conclude
the volume. His closing chapter on the Bible itself is most in-
accurate, and would not convince any logical thinker, who ques-
tioned the " superhuman authorship and authority of the Word
of God."
THE WILL TO LIVE. By Henry Bordeaux. Translated by
Pitts Duffield. New York : Duffield & Co. 75 cents net.
The Will to Live is another link in the chain of novels which
Henry Bordeaux has forged to defend the home and the Christian
family from the evils of divorce, race suicide, adultery, and the
836 NEH' BOOKS [Sept,
like. The hero, Maurice Roquevillard, is won back to his home
from the bonds of an adulterous union by the love and devotion
of his family and kinsfolk.
THE DREAM OF SCIPIO. De Re Publica, VL, 9-29. By Mar-
cus Tullius Cicero. Edited, with an introduction, notes and
an English translation by James A. Kleist, S.J. New^ York:
Schwartz, Kirwin & Fauss. 50 cents.
Cicero wrote the six books of his De Re Publica in 54 b. c.
when he was at the height of his political glory. This treatise was
lost for many centuries, until Cardinal Angelo Mai, in 1820, dis-
covered about one-third of it in a palimpsest which contained St
Augustine's commentary on the Psalms. The Dream of Scipio
was not found in this manuscript, but has come down to us through
the commentary of Macrobius, a Roman antiquarian of the fifth
century.
Father Kleist has edited this interesting treatise as a practical
illustration of the theory of Latin style. His translation is well
done, and the many scholarly footnotes referring to grammatical
rules, special Latin idioms, and historical facts will prove most
useful to the student.
THE WIT AND WISDOM OF JOHN AYSCOUGH. Chosen and
Edited by Scannell O'Neill. The Angelus Series. New York :
Benziger Brothers. 50 cents.
The compiler has given us, in compact form, gleanings from
the writings of Monsignor Bickerstaffe-Drew. The terse, epi-
grammatic, incisive style of the writer makes these selections, which
are judiciously and widely chosen from his various works and pub-
lished articles, particularly readable.
THE CURSE OF ADAM. By Rev. P. M. Northcote, Ph.D. St.
Louis : B. Herder. 75 cents net.
This volume is a clear and popular exposition of the doctrine of
the fall of man in Adam and his restoration in Christ, which, as
Father Northcote tells us, "constitutes the very backbone of the
Christian religion." The Abbe Vonier, O.S.B., in his preface de-
clares this volume most opportune, for in our day ** great efforts are
being made to solve the problems of the Fall in a merely natural, a
merely physiological way. Let anyone read the reports of certain
up-to-date scientific writers,* chiefly on the subject of eugenics, and
1915] NEIV BOOKS 837
the fact will become clear that nothing will save our society from
falling back into the intellectual immodesties of pagan times except
the old Christian doctrine of our fall in Adam and our raising up
in Christ."
THE LAST OF THE VESTALS AND OTHER DRAMAS. $1.80.
MARY MAGDALEN AND OTHER DRAMAS. By S. M. A. of
St. Mary's Academy, Winnipeg, Manitoba. $1.50.
One of the sisters at St. Mary's Academy in Winnipeg, Mani-
toba, has written a dozen plays for school children. They are
admirably adapted for the purpose of pleasing a commencement
day audience.
VISITS TO JESUS IN THE BLESSED SACRAMENT. By the
author of May Devotions for Children. New York: J. F.
Tapley Co. 25 cents net.
This simple little volume is intended for the use of little
children in their devotions to the Sacred Heart during the month
of June, or on their retreats in preparation for First Holy Com-
munion. It is well written, devout and practical.
THE STORY OF ST. DOMINIC. By Marie St. S. EUerker. New
York : Benziger Brothers. 35 cents net.
This simple life of St. Dominic was written, as the author
tells us, for little people. It brings out clearly the chief events
in the Saint's life, and from them teaches children loyalty to the
Faith, zeal for souls, love of the Virgin Mary, and the spirit of
prayer.
''PHE University of Wisconsin has published Public Recreation, by
•■' R. H. Edwards, a scholarly volume which discusses thoroughly
the problem of popular amusements in the United States to-day.
Price, $1.00 net.
ANEW volume of verse by Mr. Thomas Walsh is to be published
in September by The Macmillan Co. It is the first collection
of his poems to appear since the publication, five years ago, of
Prison Ships and Other Poems, and this fact, no less than the excel-
lent quality of Mr. Walsh's verse, will undoubtedly insure the success
of the forthcoming volume.
838 NEW BOOKS [Sept.,
TN pamphlet and book form Rev. Joseph McDonnell, S.J., gives
'*' an explanation of the " Nine Offices " of the Sacred Hearty
under the title of The Service of the Sacred Heart. (New York:
Benziger Brothers. 35 cents net.) The custom of distributing
these nine offices, or services, among clients zealous for the interests
of the Sacred Heart, dates from the time of Blessed Margaret Mary,
who established this salutary practice at her convent of Paray. In
addition to a general description of the practice, there is a dear
explanation of the offices, with accompanying meditations and
prayers.
PAMPHLET PUBLICATIONS.
In view of the very great interest at the present time in the Hague Conven-
tions of 1899 2ind 1907, the Cam^ie Endowment for International Peace has
published a score of pamphlets which afford the public accurate information
about the status of these international agreements, and the extent to which the
Powers now at war are bound by their provisions.
The America Press sends us three issues of the Catholic Mind, viz.. Was
Shakespeare a Catholic? Dante's Six Hundred and Fiftieth Birthday, by T>r.
Walsh, and The Church and the Mexican Revolution, by Dr. Kelly. 5 cents each.
From the Australian Catholic Truth Society we have the following pamph-
lets: The Priest on the Battlefield, by Father Lockington; The Mass, by Father
Devine, and Church Music in New Zealand, by M. C. Gdlan. 5 cents each.
The Lithuanian Information Bureau of Paris has just issued two English
pamphlets by J. Gabrys: A Sketch of the Lithuanian Nation and Lithuania
and the Autonomy of Poland.
The Government Printing Office of Washington has published The Report
of the Bureau of Education on Work Among the Natives of Alaska; The
Report of Commissioner Davies of the Department of Commerce on the Lumber
Industry in the United States; and two volumes by the Smithsonian Institution ;
Cyrus Byington's Dictionary of the Choctaw Language, and the Ethnosoblogy
of the Tewa Indians of New Mexico, by J. Henderson and J. P. Harrington.
The Children (Rev. Director Holy Childhood Association, Pittsburgh, Pa.)
describes the work of the Association of the Holy Childhood in reclaiming to
Christ hundreds of thousands of unbaptized little ones in the mission field, and
appeals to those who have the care of children to stimulate the interest of
"Christ's little ones" in this field so especially suited to their zeal.
From the office of the Irish Messenger we have received two pamphlets
on special aspects of the war in France. The Countess de Courson, in The
Young Men of France and the War, relates a number of authentic anecdotes
regarding the " supernatural heroism "of young Frenchmen at the front These
personal records form an impressive testimony to the religious awakening in
France. A Hero of the War, by the same writer, adapted from the French of
Pere Suau, S.J., is a brief biography of Father Gilbert de Gironde, SJ., who
died on the field, December 7, 1914.
"Miriam Agatha," in Mates (Melbourne: Australian Catholic Truth So-
ciety) tells a tale of thirst and wandering in the Australian wilderness, and the
finding of the " living water."
1915] NEW BOOKS 839
FOREIGN PUBLICATIONS.
La Question Religieuse en France Pendant la Guerre de 19 14, by Vtc
Maurice de Lestrange. Volume I., 80 centimes; Volume II., i /r. (Paris:
P. Lethielleux.) These two volumes contain a number of documents issued by
the French Government and the French bishops, together with many extracts
from French newspapers and periodicals, which set forth clearly the status of
public opinion in France from August to December, 1914, with regard to the
Catholic Church. The compiler wishes to warn his readers against the optimistic
view that the French anti-clericals will cease persecuting the Church once the
war is over.
Consignes de Guerre, by Monsignor Tissier, Bishop of Chalons. (Paris:
Pierre T6qui. 3/rj. 50.) Bishop Tissier has published thirty patriotic sermons
and conferences preached in his cathedral before and during the Great War.
Catichisme de la Vie Religieuse, by Monsignor Lelong. (Paris: Pierre
Tequi. i/r.) This little manual of the late Bishop Lelong of Nevers treats,
in a clear and simple manner, of vocation, the religious life, the vows, the chief
virtues of a religious, and the like. It is written primarily for the novices of
religious orders of women.
France et Bilgique-^^tudes Littiraires, by Eug^e (Gilbert (Paris: Plon-
Nourrit et Cic. 3/rj. 5a) Eug^e (Gilbert, the well-known Belgian literary
critic, has written nearly forty essays on contemporary Belgian and French
novelists, essayists and poets. Among the Belgians he mentions Georges Virres,
(Georges Rencey, Louis Delattre, Firmin Van den Bosch, Pierre Nothomb, and
Adophe Hardy; and among the French, Paul Bourget, Jean Nesmy, Maurice
Barres, Rene Bazin, Henri Bordeaux, Jules Lemaitre, Victor Ciiraud, Madame
Felix-Faure-(joyau, Leon Bocquet, and Louis Le CardonneL
Venise, — La Ville des Doges, by Rafael E. Urmeneta. Two volumes.
Translated from the Spanish by Madame Jean Carriere. (Paris: Plon-Nourrit
et Cie.) These two volumes will give the average reader a good idea of the
history of Venice, and a scholarly estimate of its painting, sculpture and archi-
tecture. The author acknowledges his debt to Molmenti's History of Venice
and to Venturi's History of Italian Art,
Exposition de la Morale Catholiquer—UEspirance, by the Abb^ M. A.
Janvier, O.P. (Paris: P. Lethielleux. 4frs.)t is the Abba's Lenten course
delivered at Notre Dame in 1913 treating of the virtue of Hope.
L'^nigme AUemande, by Georges Bourdon. (Paris: Plon-Nourrit et Gc.
Zf^S' 50.) CJeorges Bourdon wrote most of the present volume for the Paris
Figaro a year or so ago. He tells us that he did his utmost to give a fair and
impartial picture of modem (krmany.
foxciQw ipedobicals.
Statistics and a Moral. By Vincent McNabb, O.P. The
Catholic population of England and Wales is i,89I,cmd6, while the
total population is 36,000,000, making one out of every eighteen
a Catholic. On the other hand, in the United States, one in every
six is a Catholic, there being 16,309,310 Catholics to 98,000.000
total population. These figures are from the official Catholic Direc-
tory of England and Wales, and from an analysis of the United
States official Catholic Directory, printed in The Lamp of last
April. The contrast now becomes favorable to England and Wales.
They have about 4,000 priests, one to every 500 souls ; the United
States has about 19,000 priests, one to every 800 souls. They have
1,879 churches, one for every 1,000 people; we have 14,961
churches with the same average. The archdiocese of New York
alone has a Catholic population of 2,885,824, or half as much again
as the total Catholic population of England and Wales, yet the
latter have more priests, more churches, more Catholic schools,
more Catholic children in the Catholic schools (in England and
Wales, one in five; in New York, one in ten).
" It is quite probable that the 'little flock in England and Wales*
is one of the most highly organized Catholic bodies in the Catholic
Church," yet " it is probable that we have not one quarter of the
organizations and laborers necessary for the conversion of the coun-
try Workers must be multiplied and their powers increased
fourfold, or the conversion of the country will be but an idle dream
of *men who die/ '* — The Tablet, June 5.
Father Maturin, By Wilfrid Ward. The external events of
Father Maturin's life were not of great importance, except as af-
fording occasions for his real life work, his constant personal in-
fluence. He was the son of a well-known High Church clergyman in
Ireland. He worked in England and America as a Cowley Father;
he did much mission work for eighteen years as a Catholic priest.
During all this time he used to the utmost his influence as a writer, a
preacher of sermons and spiritual retreats, and a director of souls.
In his last years he was chaplain to the Oxford Catholic under-
graduates. Great missionary zeal, spiritual genius, and penetrating
^m
1915] FOREIGN PERIODICALS 841
psychological insight were the gifts which enabled Father Maturin
to lead many to a Christian life and often to high spirituality. In
private life he was a charming companion, full of sympathy and
frank simplicity. He met his death in the sinking of the Lusitania,
May 7, 1915. — The Dublin Review, July.
Anglicanism, Past and Present, By James Britten. The Eng-
lish Catholic Revival in the Nineteenth Century, by the late Paul
Thureau-Dangin, covers the period from the beginning of the
Oxford Movement to the death of Cardinal Manning, in 1892.
The present attitude of the " Catholic " party differs as widely from
the earlier Anglicanism as the latter did from the Protestantism
which preceded it. A full belief in the Real Presence, indistin-
guishable to the ordinary mind from Transubstantiation, has steadily
gained ground ; the cultus of Our Lady and the honor and invoca-
tion of Saints have made notable advances. A more recent develop-
ment is the use of prayers for the dead. Various societies in the
English Church have taken up one or the other of these distinctly
Catholic practices. The difficulties of corporate reunion are, never-
theless, as great as ever. The influence of the Low Church party
has steadily diminished; on the other hand, the Broad Church, in
its new "modernist" aspect, has attained increasing strength. —
The Dublin Review, July.
The Criterion of Catholic Philosophy, by A. J. Rahilly, shows
the precise connection between Catholic philosophy and Catholic
Faith. From the earliest period of Christianity there has been slowly
evolved a distinctive Catholic philosophy. It was never identified
with theology; it is a complete rational system, full of power and
progressiveness, reaching into every department of life. Scholas-
ticism has its roots deep in Christianity and in patristic thought;
it is still living and vigorous to-day ; it is the systematic development
of the philosophical presuppositions and implications of Christianity.
Christian theology being a revelation ab extra, is not an elaboration
of human reason. It furnishes a touchstone, whereby we can test
the falsity, but not the truth, of any philosophical system; it is a
negative norm, in the sense that it supplies data which no true phil-
osophy can contradict. Christianity permeates all thought and
life; one cannot segregate a portion of philosophy and say that
it has no connection with it. — The Irish Ecclesiastical Record,
July.
842 FOREIGN PERIODICALS [Sept,
5"^ Vincent Ferrer, Preacher of the Judgment. 'By Wilfrid
Lescher, O.P. St. Vincent's sermons bore the full burden of the
Dies Irce, and might almost be called a paraphrase of that great
hymn. No preacher in his day preached with such remarkable
success, yet he spoke in the words of Scripture, and it does not
appear that he went beyond them. St. Vincent called himself the
angel of the Apocalypse, probably figuratively. It does not appear
that he predicted the Judgment; he spoke of it as present, as do
the Scriptures. — The Irish Ecclesiastical Record, August.
Inductive Determinism and the Miraculous. By Joseph de
Tonquedec. Determinism is the affirmation of a necessary connec-
tion between the phenomena of the world. The advocates of in-
ductive determinism, like Hume and Mill, allege a uniform expe^
rience against miracles. To-day, for many savants, induction is
nothing but a provisional manner of grouping facts ; it is founded
on ordinary experience : " I never saw a miracle ; no one that I
know ever saw one; therefore no one ever saw one."
Ignorance of natural causes and the creative power of the
imagination are presented as a sufficient general explanation of the
belief in the marvelous. Induction looked at negatively eliminates
certain phenomena from possible causes : an oak never grows from
corn. Induction of this character (when applied to miracles) ex-
cludes the influence of certain antecedents on certain results. In-
ductive science is radically inefficacious to demonstrate the non-
existence of the miraculous; for induction is occupied with facts
as they ordinarily occur, with the rule; it does not deal with the
question of possibility or impossibility. — £tudes, June.
The Month (July) : In The Doctrine of the Great Hour, Rev.
Thomas G. Gerrard uses Mr. Chesterton's phrase to express one
of the chief elements in the philosophy of Browning. Browning
evidently felt his elopement with Elizabeth Barrett to be his own
"great hour;" that this act was moral because successful. This
false philosophy is widespread to-day. No amount of success can
make bad good. It is not success which justifies an exceptional
illegal act; it is a well-known principle known as epikeia, which
enables a man to interpret the mind of the legislator. The success
of the action is a mere sign or symptom that he has understood
the situation. E. M. Walker gives an account of one of the
foremost literary men of his day in France, Charles Peguy, who
1915] FOREIGN PERIODICALS 843
was killed last September in the Battle of the Marne. He was of
peasant stock ; as he grew up the religion of his childhood fell from
him. He started his career as a Socialist and Anti-Militarist. But
his love of humanity and his whole-hearted reverence for the Saints
led him back to God. He had great devotion for Joan of Arc. and
in 1910 appeared his Mystery of the Charity of Joan of Arc.
For the writing of this remaricable work, Peguy prepared himself
for years. Besides this he has left a considerable mass of prose and
verse. ^The recent publication of a revised Ordo administrandi
Sacramenta, gives occasion to Father Thurston for a most inter-
esting article, entitled English Ritualia, Old and New, on some of
the changes that have taken place in the manner of administering
the Sacraments since pre-Reformation times.
The Irish Theological Qucfrterly (July) : In Pessimism or
Supernaturalism, John Ashton, S.J., shows the wide spread of pes-
simism during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, as the outcome
of naturalistic philosophy. Naturalists often use the word " spirit-
ual " to signify the " moral," or to include, implicitly, the " super-
natural." There is no objection to this last use, provided it be
clearly recognized that the sanctions of the supernatural can only
come through revelation. " Spiritual " is sometimes understood,
in a confused sort of way, to include the religious. Religion is a
higher order than morality, morality is a necessary foundation on
which the supernatural structure, reaching up to communion with
God, may be raised, through the descent of the Divine, to the level
of man. Both angels and men were created in the supernatural
state, which forbids us to ascribe all the anomalies of the natural-
istic hypothesis to the original designs of God. ^Rev. J. B.
O'Connell, Ph.D., discusses The Beginnings of Philosophy. The
meaning of the word philosophy has varied in different ages; taking
the Aristotelian use of the term as the standard, viz., the indepen-
dent work of reason arranging knowledge in a methodical manner
by means of the ultimate causes of things, it seems undoubtedly
true that we must seek the origin of philosophy in the Greek
thought of the sixth century B. C. in Ionia.
' The Irish Ecclesiastical Record (June) : Rev. T. E. Flynn
contributes a valuable summary of recent discoveries on The Psy-
chology and Physiology of Attention, showing their practical value
for teachers and preachers. C. Reddin pleads for the study of
844 FOREIGN PERIODICALS [Sept.,
mental science as an aid to mental hygiene. Rev. William A.
Sutton, S.J., comments on suffering and sin in Glimpses of God's
Ways and Thoughts,
(July) : Rev. David Barry treats of Affinity, the relationship
that exists between either partner of a marriage and the
blood-relatives of the other, and which within certain limits forms
a diriment impediment to matrimony. First, because the intimate
and sacred union of husband and wife incorporates each into the
family of the other; second, as a restraint upon the relations of one
partner with the relatives of the other. The regulations for dis-
pensing the impediment differ according to the nature of the case.
£tudes (July 5-20) : For some years past, the Exercises of St.
Ignatius have been the subject of attack in various French period-
icals. The basis of these attacks was the fact that the Founder of
the Society of Jesus did not take into his Institute the choir custom
of reciting the Canonical Hours as was customary in the older
Orders of the Church, thereby setting aside the social method in
favor of an individualistic method of recitation. Paul Aucler
reviews the salient points of a reply of these attacks published by
Rev. Alexander Brou, entitled The Spirituality of St. Ignatius, in
which the author shows that St. Ignatius had the full sanction of
the Church in his change of method for the recitation of the Canon-
ical Hours, by which nothing has been lost, and something gained.
Revue du Clergi Franqais (June) : H. Lesetre prints an essay,
hitherto unknown, on The Mystery of the Redemption, by M.
Faillon, of St. Sulpice. J. Bricourt writes on Belgian Catholics
and Liberty of Teaching,
(July) : A Travers la Litterature Italienne is the first of two
studies which M. Bricourt proposes to publish in honor of the public
declaration of war by Italy, and the consequent fraternal sympathy
which thus unites the two nations. The second will be Autour du
" Risorgimento " Italian, In this first article, M. Bricourt has
drawn largely on M. Hauvette s work, La Litterature Italienne, for
his facts, and for his appreciation of the Italian authors which
he here considers : namely, Petrarch, Boccacio, Machiavelli, Ariosto,
Galileo, Metastase, Goldini, Parini, the priest whose liberal sym-
pathies led him astray, and Alfieri; Monti and Foscolo, poets
who sang during the Napoleonic wars of Italy's hopes and sorrows;
^Hvio Pellico and Manzoni, and, lastly, d'Annunzio and Carducci.
ar- —
-t; :•
**^'i
'^•>-
'Recent £vent8.
:rc T^A^ Editor of The Catholic World wishes to state that none
en:: ^f ^^^ contributed articles or departments, signed or unsigned, of
^jQ. the magasine, with the exception of " With Our Readers," voices
the editoriat opinion of the magazine. And no article or department
voices officially the opinion of the Paulist Community.
The relative positions of the opposing lines
Progress of the War. in France, Alsace and Belgium have under-
gone but little change. The war of " attri-
tion " is still going on. The trenches on each side are fortified by
every conceivable entanglement, and defended by all the appliances
that modem science provides, so that they have become almost im-
pregnable.
After failing three times, and almost a year after the date
appointed in her time-table, Germany has at last taken Warsaw.
It would be foolish to attempt to belittle the importance of
this event. Warsaw is the third city of the Russian Empire,
with a population of nearly a million, the western converging point
of the Russian railway systems, with great bridges over the Vistula.
Its loss has postponed indefinitely all prospect of a renewal of a
Russian offensive. But as the Russian armies have withdrawn
substantially intact, the reverse is still far from being a decisive
defeat. The determination of Russia to continue the war is not
in the least aflfected; while the resistance she has oflFered to the
German armies has given time to France and Great Britain to secure
the supply of munitions which was necessary for them.
Little progress has been made in the Dardanelles. It, too, has
become the scene of trench warfare, in which the defenders are
placed in the most advantageous of positions, and are superior in
numbers to the forces ranged against them. Italy is making slow
but sure progress in her attack upon Austria, and is holding Austrian
forces along a line of some four hundred miles. This is in itself
a conspicuous service to the cause of the Allies. Great Britain has
had some slight success in the region of the Persian Gulf, while the
attack upon Aden has opened a new scene of warfare. No further
attempt has been made upon Egypt. In East Africa things remain
in statu quo, while in Cameroon the united forces of France and
846 RECENT EVENTS [Sept.,
England are making progress. The campaign in German South-
west Africa has come to a successful end, and the conquered
territory is now being administered by the Union Government of
South Africa. The submarine warfare on Great Britain is ban-
ning to cause a little uneasiness, but the fact that the import of food
supplies has increased when compared with the corresponding
period of last year by 182,700 tons, shows how impotent have been
the efforts of Germany to starve the inhabitants of Great Britain
and Ireland.
At the beginning of the war the watchword
Great Britain. was "business as usual :" after twelve months
this has been changed into " nothing as
usual." The change is due to the determination of the people to
leave nothing undone, and to make every sacrifice which may be
necessary to carry the war to a successful issue. Complete agree-
ment, however, does not exist as to what measures may be necessary
in order to achieve this result. The point on which divergence is
the greatest, is the question of conscription, or, as its advocates
prefer to call it, national service. By means of voluntary enlist-
ment there has been raised an army of some three millions — the
exact number has not been disclosed. This is an achievement
unparalleled in history, and hence the defenders of the voluntary
system, and the opponents of compulsion, argue that it would be
unwise to adopt a system which is the characteristic mark of that
Prussian militarism, the suppression of which is one of the chief
objects of the war. To bring into Great Britain the very thing
which is most hateful in their opponents would, in reality, be suffer-
ing a moral defeat for the sake of an apparent victory, and would
involve so great a change in national habits as to render even a
successful outcome of the war a permanent disaster. For some
years the late Lord Roberts was the promoter of a modified form
of universal service, to which many of the Liberal leaders offered a
strenuous opposition. It is hard for them even now to acknowledge
their mistake. In the eyes of some of the working classes, and
this class now forms the dominant section of the population, any-
thing like compulsory service is regarded as slavery, and to the
attempt to impose it forceful resistance is threatened.
The movement in favor of some form of national service is,
however, gaining ground. Of its supporters some are in favor of
its being adopted at once; while others are waiting to see
1915] RECENT EVENTS 847
whether it may not be possible to win on the voluntary system.
Should success be jeopardized, conscription would be adopted. Even
such Radicals as Mr. Lloyd George are ready to take this course.
The Cabinet is supposed to be divided. It would seem to be more
prudent not to run any hazards in such an all important matter.
The arguments for taking the step seem far weightier than those
offered in opposition. In addition to the one just referred to^
the folly of running any risks — the injustice of the voluntary
system is made evident to anyone who gives careful consideration
to the subject. The men who volunteer are the choicest and the
best of the population.
One of the reasons of the shortage of munitions is that so
many skilled artisans have enlisted and gone to the front — a thing
which has crippled the manufacturers. An undue proportion of
married men — ^no less, indeed, than eight hundred and fifty thousand
— ^have entered the army, leaving behind a large number of de-
pendents who have to be provided for, a thing which has been
done on a most generous scale, but which has added immensely to
the expense of the war. In fact, the expense of the voluntary
system is one of the strongest objections which is offered to it.
The payment of a voluntary army has to be on a far more generous
scale than that which is given to the nation in arms. Germany is
not paying half as much as Great Britain for the vast numbers she
has in arms, and in France even less is being given. To many, too,
it seems intolerably unjust that the slackers should be left at home
to enjoy themselves, while the energetic and active members of the
community are shedding their blood for their advantage.
Then again there are many who shrink from the responsibility
of voluntarily offering themselves, but who would readily obey a
universally imposed obligation. There is, in fact, good reason to
believe that there would be very few who would not gladly respond,
the attitude of the largest number of those who have not volunteered
being that they are only " waiting to be fetched." Moreover, it
is a great mistake to give to national service, or to use the
plain term conscription, the epithet of Prussian. The Prussian
military system is a thing sui generis, altogether different in
spirit and character from conscription as it exists in such demo-
cratic countries as Switzerland and France. Nor is compulsion
unknown in Great Britain, where education, the payment of old-age
pensions and sick relief, to mention only a few instances, are
compulsory. Considerations such as these render it probable that
848 RECENT EVENTS [Sq)t,
some form of compulsory national service, and ttiSLt not mcrdy
military, but industrial, may be introduced.
The Registration Bill which has now become laiv ivill facilitate
such an adoption, for it imposes, under serious penalties, upon
every inhabitant of Great Britain, whether man or woman, between
the ages of fifteen and sixty- five, the obligation oi replying to
several questions, among which are included whether the work <mi
which he is employed is work for any Government department,
or otherwise serving war purposes; and whether he is skilled in
and able and willing to perform any work other than the work
(if any) at which he is at the time employed, and, if so, the nature
thereof. Although these questions have for their primary object
the organization of the industrial resources of the nation in support
of the war, yet the information g^ven by the answers will be availaWe
for conscription, and will render it more easy to carry it into effect,
in the event of the Government deciding to adopt that course. This
has been openly avowed by members of the Cabinet. It would,
however, be necessary to obtain the consent of Parliament by a
further act.
The Munitions Act is another extension of Governmental
authority overruling the freedom usually enjoyed by British citizens.
It gives to the Minister of Munitions the power tp take control over
such manufacturing establishments as it may deem necessary for
producing munitions for carrying on the war. In the establish-
ments so taken over those trade union practices and rules tending
to restrict production or employment which have been so keenly
fought for and defended by the working classes, have been put
an end to for the period of the war; on the other hand, the net
profits of the employers are restricted to a certain amount, any
excess over that amount being paid into the Exchequer. Regula-
tions are made for the stabilization of wages : no change can take
place without a reference to the Minister of Munitions. A volun-
tary body of munition workers is enrolled under the provisions of
the act and with the cooperation of the trade union leaders, with a
view to working in controlled establishments if required. For all
trades having to do with the requirements of the war, the Act, either
directly or by a proclamation which it authorizes, renders strikes
and lockouts unlawful until the case has been referred to the Board
of Trade. In fact, compulsory arbitration is enacted. It was this
provision of the act that the South Wales miners set at defiance,
, and . it must be admitted Avith success. , For how can a law be
1915.1 RECENT EVENTS 849
enforced when two hundred thousand men are bent on violating it?
It was to the eloquent entreaties of Mr. Lloyd George, combined
with certain concessions on the part of the mine owners, rather
than out of respect or submission to the law, that the miners
yielded and resumed their tasks. The conduct of the South Wales
miners affords an extreme instance of the spirit by which the British
workmen are animated at the present time. They are, or may be,
willing to offer service voluntarily, but any attempt at compulsion
they will not brook. In this way they offer a complete contrast to
the working classes both of Germany and even of France.
Another instance of the impossibility of governing in advance
of public opinion, is afforded by the attempt made by the Govern-
ment to regulate the sale of liquor. Mr. Lloyd George suggested
a measure which he looked upon as necessary to cope with the evils
caused by excessive drinking — Prohibition, in fact, for the entire
nation. The opposition was, however, so strong that he had to be
satisfied with the imposition of some additional duties, and with
being given the power to control the liquor traffic in certain districts,
which had to be specified by proclamation. Such districts are mili-
tary camps, transport and munition areas.
The most striking instance of the power which the judgment
of the people possesses is the formation of the present Coalition
Cabinet. The exact circumstances which led to the change are not
known. Whether it was due, as he himself asserts, to Mr. Asquith's
spontaneous feeling that the nation required a ministry representa-
tive of all its sections, or to the revelations of the Times corre-
spondent about the shortage of shells, or to the conflict between
Lord Fisher and Mr. Churchill, the causa causans of the change
was the conviction which had become widespread that the resources
of the country were not being organized in a way adequate for the
calls the war was making upon them. The voltmtary suppression
of criticism since the beginning of the war, both inside and outside
of Parliament, could not prevent the formation of this conviction,
perhaps even gave it the strength and volume which on a fitting
opportunity found means of expression. It need not be said that
the change was not caused by any hesitation or lack of determina-
tion on the part of the nation about the prosecution of the war to a
successful issue. On the contrary, it was due to the doubt whether
the Government was showing itself a fitting instrument for the
accomplishment of this end. The life of the present Government
depends upon its proving itself capable in this respect; and it will
VOL. «.— 54
8so RECENT EVENTS [Sept,
meet with more outspoken criticism than did its predecessor. The
late Mr. Joseph Chamberlain when asked what England should do
in the event of its being engaged in a great Continental war, replied :
"Appoint a dictator." This is not a practical question at the
present time, but if the choice should have to be made between
taking this course and risking defeat, the choice would — ^such is the
spirit of the nation — ^be in favor of a temporary dictatorship. There
may be an apparent contradiction between this statement and the
conduct of the South Wales miners, to which reference has been
made, but the contradiction is only apparent. The love of freedom
is the principle on which these miners acted, and the love of freedom
from the power of Germany, which would be the consequence of
her victory, would bind the miners with every other class in the
kingdom to submit to a home dictatorship in order to secure freedom
from such a foreign domination.
Never in England's history ha? there existed such a perfect
union among all parties and persons in support of a war as there
exists in the present case. A large party was organized against
the wars with Napoleon, and actively opposed them. The same is
true of the recent Boer War, of which Mr. Lloyd George was one
among many prominent opponents. There are now, of course, as
at all times, the sort of men who are always in opposition. Moreover,
there are not a few idealists who, however, are not so much opposed
to the war as they are in favor of premature terms of peace. Among
these is Mr. E. D. Morel, who made such a successful fight against
King Leopold's treatment of the natives in Belgian Congo. He,
with a few others, including Mr. Norman Angell and some fifty
members of Parliament, and it is said a quarter of a million sup-
porters, have formed an association called the Union of Democratic
Control. This Union disclaims the desire to make peace at any
price, but thinks British diplomacy has been at fault in the past, and
advocates radical changes in its methods for the future. Its pro-
gramme is the embodmient of the conditions necessary to secure
permanent peace. Everything in the way of secrecy in negotiations
between the nations it condemns. Of every step taken in Parliament,
and through it, the people ought to be fully informed, and to it
ought to be given the right of decision, the chief groups of
Socialists hold with the rest of the nation. There is, however, an
insignificant minority of Socialists going by the name of the
Independent Labor Party, that takes a line of its own which it is
hard to define. It seems to be neither for nor against the war.
igisl RECENT EVENTS 851
With these exceptions, if exceptions they may be called, absolute
union exists, and a firm determination to put out the last ounce of
strength, to send the last man, and to spend the last penny, in what
is looked upon as a life and death struggle.
No notable success in the actual conflict in Europe can be
chronicled, unless it is to be reckoned as a success that the Germans
have not been able to advance. When the shortage of munitions
is borne in mind, this may be considered no small achievement.
How great this shortage has been has not been revealed, but during
the time which it lasted, it constituted a grave peril. Instances are
reported where the guns were limited to five rounds a day. This
has now been, or is, at least, on the point of being remedied, as a
consequence of the organization of industry which has taken place
under Mr. Lloyd George's administration.
A striking result of the war is the close tmion which has
already been effected between the mother country and her colonies.
They have all made her cause their own in a way which surpassed
all anticipation. Of Canada, India, Australia and New Zealand
it is needless to speak. But that the commander of the Boer forces
in the recent war with Great Britain should have become the com-
mander of the forces which have stripped Germany of her south-
west African territories, was a thing hardly to be expected. The
war has been the means of welding the Empire into a closer union
than has ever yet existed. It is looked upon as certain that a change
in the present constitutional arrangements will be made such as to
give to the colonies a voice in the government of the Empire. As
an omen of the approaching change, the Premier of Canada was
invited during his recent visit to be present at a Cabinet meeting.
Perhaps the most conspicuous success is the raising, within a
few weeks, of a loan larger by far than has ever yet been made.
The enormous sum of three billions was subscribed out of what is
called the home savings of the community : that is to say, without
touching at all, or to a very small extent, the foreign investments,
which amount to the stupendous sum of twenty billions, but for
which at the present time no market can be found, except at a great
sacrifice. Nor is this all. The face of the nation is resolutely set
not only to submit to additional taxation, but also to the issue of
further loans which, it is stated on high financial authority, may
have to be made up to an amount of ten billions. In view of this
condition of things, the habits of the nation are being changed;
thrift and economy are being practised; the purchase of foreign
852 RECENT EVENTS [Sept,
goods is being avoided, as far as possible, in order that the balance
of trade which is now against the country may turn in its favor.
" Nothing as usual " is now the watchword.
The fourteenth of July, the National Fete
France. Day, was celebrated with impressive cere-
monies, and gave an opporttmity to demon-
strate how complete is the unity which now exists between all
parties. Royalists and Bonapartists, Republicans and Socialists
took part in the procession on the occasion of the removal of the
remains of Rouget de Lisle, the composer of the " Marseillaise/' to
the Invalides. The President, in his speech, reiterated the solemn
determination of the French people never to sheathe the sword,
which they had been forced to draw, " until the day when we have
avenged our dead, when the common victory of the Allies shall
allow us to rebuild our ruins, to make France whole again, and to
protect herself effectively against the periodical renewal of provoca-
tion." A limping, panting peace would leave France in a condition
of political, moral, and economic vassalage to her enemies. Such a
proposal would be an insult to the national good sense and fore-
sight. " The whole future of our race, its very existence, hangs
upon the weighty minutes of this inexorable war. We have the
will to win. We hold the certainty of victory, confident in our
strength and in that of our Allies as in our right."
The President did no more than give expression to the spirit
of the French people. Although hopes had been entertained of a
great offensive which by this time would have driven the invaders
out of French territory, the lack of munitions has frustrated this
effort. Hence the people have now accepted the prospect of another
winter campaign, and their spirit has been improved by the ordeal
through which France has passed. Although they realize to the
full the strength of Germany, and highly value the help of their
Allies, confidence in their own strength has become greater and
greater as the months have passed. The poor have suffered little
from the war ; it is upon what is called the lower-middle class that
the greater burdens have been cast. The economical habits which
are characteristic of the French people render it easy for them
to curtail expenses. The conduct of the enemy has added a new
stimulus, and has bound together those who were hitherto most
bitter enemies into what is called a " sacred union," by which is
expressed the conviction of the holiness of their cause. The dironic
^
1915] RECENT EVENTS 853
suspicion of each other's intentions which used to be entertained by
political parties has disappeared, and this has given a solidity to
French political life which would have been thought impossible a
year ago. Cheerfulness has become the chief characteristic of the
French soldier, that and a confidence in the ultimate result, together
with patience and fortitude to endiu-e to the end. " We shall last
out just one day longer than the enemy."
The women of France are as wholehearted as the men, and in
large numbers supply their places, not only on the farms, but in the
factories. In the making of munitions, and in a thousand other
ways, they free men to serve at the front. So great is their willing-
ness to work in every class, high and low, rich and poor, that they
have become one of the chief assets of the State. They form a
driving force which sends men to the trenches in the rare cases
where such a force is needed. While the cost of living is thirty
per cent higher in France than it is in England, the genius for saving
of the French woman has enabled her not only to manage to keep
things going, but to maintain in most cases that secret of French
thrift — the habit of saving even in times like the present.
The Cabinet which was formed at the beginning of the war
remains substantially unchanged, not having had to undergo a
re-formation like that of the British. There has, however, been a
movement organized by several g^roups of members of the legislature
to bring about a more complete control by Parliament than that
which has existed since the beginning of the war. The role of
Parliament has been somewhat effaced in favor of the direct action
of the Ministers of War and Marine. Their administration has
indeed been subjected to searching criticisms by Parliamentary com-
mittees, and even to a few open attacks in Parliament. M. Herve,
who is an extreme Radical, has found fault with one of the acts
of the Minister of War as reactionary and as a humiliation of the
Republican Party. Any crisis has been avoided by an agreement
which has been made between the groups and the Government.
This agreement is on moderate lines, and gives to Parliamentary
committees the right to appoint delegates to visit the front from
time to time in order to study specified questions. It does not,
however, give these delegates the right to roam about within the
zone of the armies for the purpose of conducting a general inquiry
into every detail. All interference with purely military matters is
to be carefully avoided.
The enemy naturally wishes to sow dissension between the
854 RECENT EVENTS [Sept,
Allies. This has taken the form of trying to make France believe
that Great Britain is not putting forth every possible eflFort, and
even that so far she has been of no service to the common cause.
The internal difficulties of Great Britain have given her a good
opportunity. She has made use, too, of the secret agents which she
still maintains in London and in Paris to promote those misunder-
standings which are so apt to arise between both nations and in-
dividuals. These efforts have been successfully counteracted by
mutual visits, and by publications describing the efforts and work
of each. A week before the French National Fete Day, " France's
Day," was celebrated in London, and the capital and many cities
were decorated with the Tricolor. Mass was said in Westminsto*
Cathedral in the presence of Cardinal Bourne. A Conference has
been held between the Prime Ministers of France and Great Britain
and the Ministers of War and of the Navy, together with the
Generals Commanding-in-Chief. The result has been the vciy
opposite of that which the enemy desired — ^a closer understanding
and an increase of mutual confidence.
There is not much to be said of Germany,
Germany. except that her confidence in a victorious
issue of the war is still maintained, and has
been increased by the great victories over Russia. Boasting on this
account is legitimate enough, but when it comes to prophecy, and
prophecy with definite dates, it would be well to be more prudent
A writer of some prominence in Germany, Herr Maximilian
Harden, has found it necessary to warn his fellow-countrymen
against interpreting the military and political position merely ac-
cording to their wishes. Nothing, the Duke of Wellington used
to say, is so uncertain as the result of a battle.
The harvest for 191 5 has been secured, and is said to be
moderately good; hence no increase of maximum prices will be
made by the Government. Germans are learning every day more
and more plainly that nowadays the individual, with all that he has
and all that he can do, belongs to the State; coal has now been put
under strict regulations, as well as cotton. Some little doubt is
allowable as to the genuine character of German confidence in
victory from the fact of the nunors of peace which are being cir-
culated. These undoubtedly do not come from any one of the
Allies, the determination of all of whom is unflinching. The small
group of English Socialists which goes by the name of the Inde-
1915.1 RECENT EVENTS 855
pendent Labor Party, is making a great deal of the German Social-
ists' Manifesto in behalf of peace, and look upon it as representing
the mind of no small number of the German people. Hatred of
England seems to be toning down ; at least it is said the " Hymn
of Hate " is being suppressed. This country is now somewhat
in disfavor in Germany. " Herr " Wilson's opinions command no
respect, and his attitude is looked upon as irritating. So far the
Government vouchsafes no reply.
At the time these notes are being written,
The Balkan States, the attitude of all of these States is still am-
biguous, although it would seem as if grave
decisions were mipending. Rumania has had the courage to refuse
to allow munitions of war to pass through her territory on the
way from Germany to Turkey, and for this she has been threatened
with a loss of independence by the newspaper press of Germany.
A Convention has been made between Bulgaria and Turkey by
which the Dedeagatch railway has been ceded to Bulgaria, as well
as all the territory west of the Maritza. To the formal denial
made by Bulgaria, that she has bound herself to be neutral, and not
to permit the passage of contraband of war to Turkey, little credit
is given. A tacit understanding at least is looked upon as having
been arrived at by the two contracting States. Turkey is not
likely to have made such large concessions without a quid pro quo.
In Greece there appears to be a conspiracy to defy the will of
the majority. At the election held in June the supporters of the
Ministry were defeated. This should have led, by constitutional
usage, to the resignation of the Premier. He, however, availed
himself of the legal right he possessed to remain in power until the
meeting of the Assembly on the twentieth of July. On the eight-
eenth he procured a decree from the King proroguing the meeting
until the sixteenth of August, on the plea of the illness of the King,
thereby still further prolonging his term of office. This M. Vene-
zelos declares to be a violation of the Constitution. The sympathy
of M. Venezelos with the Entente Powers is well known, as well as
that of the majority of the people, while the attitude of the Premier
is very doubtful. What action the Parliament has taken will be
known before these lines are in print. Whether the n^otiations,
going on at the time we are writing, for a Confederation of the
Balkan States under the auspices of the Allies, will be successful is
very doubtful.
With Our Readers.
THE Great War has celebrated its first anniversary ! On every side
we have evidence of how deep a furrow it has cut in the minds
and hearts of men ; even the onlookers are profoundly stirred. The
foreign magazines are quite given over to articles treating- the war
from every aspect, and our own magazines teem with it. Even the
stories are full of war incidents. It is war, war, war with no end in
sight. Those who venture a prognosis, find their greatest hope in the
slight modifications of the demands on either side, a faintest possible
rapprochement in the point of view. It is still very slig^ht and very
faint in spite of the awful loss of life, reckoned now at a million and
a half.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
IT would be interesting but interminable to comment on the many
articles treating of the present and future effects of the war oa
religion. It would certainly prove a study of comparative religions.
There is much talk of future unity, but the basis is very vague
and intangible. One writer in The Constructive Quarterly, considering
Christianity After the War, speaks of what " American Christianity "
can and must do. But what is American Christianity? Christianity
to be Christianity must not be national and limited. We confidentij
claim that in every sense of the word, it must be Catholic. To do
the work of Christ it must dominate personalities and nationalities;
it must unite all men in the membership of Christ, and this is not to
say that it must not be patriotic. In the healing of the wounds of
war, there will doubtless be much that American Christians may and
must do, because as Americans aloof from the struggle they enjoy a
better perspective, and as Christians they are one in sympathy and
love with those who have fought and bled.
To a renewed sense of what it means to be a Christian, our Holy
Father directs a passionate appeal for peace.
In the name of the Lord God, in the name of the Father and Lord in
heaven, in the name of the blessed Blood of Jesus — the price of the redemption
of humanity — we implore the belligerent nations, before Divine Providence,
henceforth to end the horrible carnage, which for a year has been dishonoring
Europe.
This is the blood of brothers that is being shed on land and sea. The
most beautiful regions of Europe — this garden of the world— are sown with
bodies and ruins. There, where recently fields and factories thrived, cannon
now roar in a frightful manner, in a frenzy of demolitions, sparing ndther
cities nor villages, and spreading the ravages of death.
You who before God and men are charged with the grave responsibility
1915.1 W'^T'^ OUR READERS 857
of peace and war, listen to Our prayer, listen to the fatherly voice of the
Vicar of the eternal and supreme Judge to Whom you should give account of
your public works as well as private actions.
The abundant riches which the creating God has given to your lands permit
you to continue the contest But at what a price? is the answer of thousands
of young whose lives are lost each day on the battlefields, and of the ruins
of so many cities and villages, so many monuments, due to the piety and genius
of our forefathers.
The bitter tears which flow in the sanctity of homes and at the foot of
altars, do they not also repeat that the price of the continuation of the contest
is great, too great?
And it cannot be said that the immense conflict cannot be ended without
violence of arms. May this craze for destruction be abandoned; nations
do not perish. Humiliated and oppressed, they tremblingly carry the yoke
imposed on them and prepare their revenge, transmitting from generation
to generation a sorrowful heritage of hate and vengeance.
Why not now weigh with serene conscience the rights and just aspirations
of the peoples? Why not start with good will, a direct or indirect exchange
of views with the object of considering as far as possible these rights and
aspirations, and thus put to an end the terrible combat, as has been the case
previously under similar circumstances?
Blessed be he who first extends the olive branch and tenders his hand
to the enemy in offering his reasonable conditions of peace.
The equilibrium of world progress and the security and tranquillity of
nations repose on mutual well-being and respect of the right and dignity of
others more than on the number of armies and a formidable zone of fortresses.
It is the cry of peace which issues from Our supreme soul this sad day.
and which invites the true friends of peace in the world to extend their hands
to hasten the end of a war which for a year has transformed Europe into an
enormous battlefield.
May Jesus in His pity, may the Mother of Sorrows, by her intercession,
end the terrible tempest and cause to arise a radiant dawn and the quietude
of peace formed in His own divine image. May hymns of thanks to the
Most High Author of all good things soon resound.
Let us hope for the reconciliation of the States; may the people once
again become brothers and return to their peaceful labor in arts, learning,
and industry; may once again the empire of justice be established; may the
people decide henceforth to confine the solution of their differences no longer
to the sword, but to courts of justice and equity, where the questions may be
studied with necessary calm and thought
This will be the most beautiful and glorious victory. In confidence that
the tree of peace will soon allow the world to enjoy again its fruits which
are so much to be desired, We bestow Our Apostolic benediction upon all those
who are part of the mystic flock which is confided to our keeping, even
also upon those who do not yet belong to the Roman Church. We pray the
Holy Father to unite Himself to us by bonds of perfect charity.
IT is g^tifying to note in the public press that, coupled with prayers
for the success of the arms of Great Britain and her Allies, ** a
service of intercession for those killed in the war " was conducted by
858 tVtTti OUR READERS [Sept,
the Anglican Bishop of London from the stq>s of St. F^iil's» and
that "intercession services" were held througfaoat the kkigdom. Ib
this hour of universal bereavement, the miiversal need of Ac btmoii
heart to reach out in charity to those whom they mourn has been
recognized by a Protestant nation. Laying aside prejudice and
protest, they have in deed acknowledged it "a holy and wholesome
thought to pray for the dead that they may be loosed from sins"
(2 Mach. xvii. 46). We welcome the fact, and all that it implies,
for the extension of Catholic faith and practice.
IT is a fundamental tenet of religion that man was created to
" know God in this world." Upon this depends the generation of
love and service here and their fruition in eternal bliss. Now knowl-
edge, whether inspired or acquired, postulates a teacher, and since
the knowledge upon which rest right love and service is of God, so
must the teacher be of divine appointment. Christ met this need wh«i
He said to Simon : " Thou art Peter ; and upon this rock I will build
My Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it" (Matt,
xvi. 18) ; and again when He said to His Apostles : "The Paraclete, the
Holy Ghost, Whcmi the Father will send in My name, He will teach
you all things, and bring all things to your mind, whatsoever I shaJJ
have said to you "(John xiv. 26). That this promise of a divinely
guaranteed teaching authority answers to an essential need of himian
nature, we have daily proof. Of himself man cannot rise above
himself. Daily we have evidence of how far afield into the brambles
of protest and denial men may be led by a false concept of God.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
TO such a false concept of God we must attribute the pathetically
futile conclusions of Sir Francis Younghusband, in an article en-
titled The War and Spiritual Experience, in the July issue of The At-
lantic Monthly, After summarizing the momentous period of history in
which we are living with its inniunerable examples of courage and self-
sacrifice, with all its future potentiality for good or ill, he asks the
question :
Arc wc or arc wc not being directed from above by some All-wise, Omnipo-
tent, and Perfect Being Who knows all and sees all and can do all, and Who,
being good, may be trusted to do for us what is best? In these critical times
can our public men, our statesmen, our naval and military commanders rdy
for aid and guidance upon such a Being?
In the inconceivably intricate questions which present themselves continually
to our statesmen, can they expect to be shown their way through? When
many alternative courses open up, each with its advantages and disadvantages
so evenly balanced, can the responsible leaders of a nation expect to be shown
1915] JVJTH OUR READERS 859
the only right one? When a commander is on the eve of attacking or of
being attacked, can he count upon being supported by an Omnipotent Being?
These thousands and millions of men who are daily risking their lives must
clearly be actuated by motives which they honestly believe are good; they
are therefore deserving of the support of any Omnipotent Ruler Who is also
good. Can th^ safely reckon upon the support of any such Being? Can indi-
vidual men and women, can nations, can the human race safely depend, in
this the greatest crisis of the human race, upon being protected from dangers,
diverted from wrong courses, supported and guided on right courses, by
One Who has the power and the will to lead man and men aright?
Upon an affirmative answer to this question depends, apparently,
the writer's faith in a God external to creation. Apparently such a
God must be, for him as for Bismarck, " an Omnipotent Autocrat,"
or not be at all. It is not surprising that a Bismarck should conceive
of Omnipotence only as absolutism, but it is surprising" that one
evidently so generous and charitable as Sir Francis Younghus-
band, cannot conceive of the All-wise and the All-loving as creating
man with capacity for Himself, providing him with the means of
realizing that capacity, yet leaving him free to choose or reject God
as His highest good ; to take or to leave the means provided him ;
free to "work out his own salvation." Only such a conception of
free-will is worthy of the Giver or the recipient. Would we have
God give with one hand and take back with the other ; to leave us free
to do as we like but not free to take the consequences? We wonder
if one so fully convinced of the moral responsibility and so earnest has
never asked himself whether some intimate study of the purposes of
the Divine Will, some personal correspondence with It, some willing
subordination of lower aims to Its higher ends, might not be necessary
before any man should dare to hope to be " protected from dangers, di-
verted from wrong courses, supported and guided on right courses by
One Who has the power and the will to lead man and men aright? "
Faith alone does not suffice: " Faith without works is dead " (James ii.
26) ; neither is prayer without its qualifications : " Not every one that
saith to Me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but
he who doth the will of My Father Who is in heaven" (Matt. vii.
21). A Teresa, a Catherine, a Francis and an Ignatius have been so
attuned to the Divine Will as to hear with certainty the whisper of
God's directing voice ; simple and humble souls are not without their
supernatural experiences ; but the majority of us, for the most part, are
left seemingly to walk alone ; to decide for ourselves ; to be in perplex-
ity and to be constrained. Nevertheless, God's Holy Spirit does guide
us if we trust Him more than we do ourselves; if we contend, and
yet leave all in His Hands. We know that the tritunphant cry of faith,
in face of the heaviest odds, is "to them that love God, all things
work together unto good" (Rom. viii. 28).
86o WITH OUR READERS [Sept.
SIR FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND has scaled the Himalayas and
penetrated the mysteries of Lhasa ; he has plumbed the depths of
introspection, but he has not yet pierced the heights and unveiled the
mysteries of God; he has not sounded the abyss of the Incamadoa
of the Son of God. And so, because of a false concept of God, because
he can say :
We were accustomed in our childhood to think of a Creator, Maker, and
Ruler, a vague Personage residing remotely in the skies; to think of this earth
as something solid and material and everlasting which was ** made " by this
distant Person, and upon which He now looks down as an aviator migiit
from his machine; and to think of ourselves as having also been made and
fashioned in some mysterious way by this Being and set upon this earth, and
as being there governed and guided by Him,
he has been driven to reject a God external to creation and to rest
his hope upon " the new conception of things " in which
this Creator, the earth, and we men all merge into one spiritual process.
We find that we ourselves sprang from the earth, and in the course of
millions of years have risen from its very bosom and from nowhere else.
We discover that what was once a fiery mist has so developed to what we see
around us to-day, with all its varied plant and animal life, and with us men
and women as the crowning flower so far reached, because it has alwajrs
borne within it, emanating from its individual component parts, in their mutual
influence upon one another, a spring, a vital impulse, an impetus ever bursting
upward; because it was so composed and constituted that it had by its very
nature to go on reconstituting itself better, in much the same way as the
pliable and plastic British G>nstitution is constantly remodeling itsdf from
within through the activities of individual Englishmen in their mutual influence
upon one another, and through their being animated with the spirit of England to
which their mutual influence gives rise.
It is to be expected that " the pliable and plastic British Consti-
tution " should be glorified by English writers, but one may venture
to ask if Sir Francis Younghusband really means what his words
imply — ^that the British Constitution is independent in its b^netting
and renewal of superior force outside of itself, that it is, in other
words, increate? Even the most partisan of Englishmen would not
go as far as this. The British Constitution depends for its birth and
its continued life on the will and intelligence of individual Englishmen.
♦ ♦ 4( 4(
MEN are urged to be " imbued with the Universal Spirit," yet, " in
the very midst of the Spirit's onrush, they will have to realize that
it is they, and they alone, who must make the choice from among all the
alternative courses which moment after moment present themselves;
that it is they, and they alone, who must fix the standard by which to
gauge their actions, and set up far ahead of them the ideal toward
which they will strive; and that it is they, and they alone, who must
furnish the resolution, the steadfastness, and the endurance to persevere
1915] WITH OUR READERS 86i
along the way they choose." Man must " rely only on himself, for
it is he, and he alone, that can create the future. So we gain the im-
pression of a dayspring from within and not from on high. We have
faith in the innate Goodness of Things, in ourselves, and in the future
it lies with us to make." This is the pathetically futile conclusion.
« « « «
THE Jews, through wresting their notion of God's providence to fit
their own materialistic ambitions, were led to deny the Christ.
To-day men looking too closely to material values, refuse to heed the
"voice of one crying in the wilderness. Prepare ye the way of the
Lord, make straight His paths " (Luke iii. 4) ; they refuse obedience
to the confession of Peter : "Thou art the Christ, the Son of the Living
God " (Matt. xvi. 16) ; they deny the Christ, " the Dayspring from on
high," and denying Christ, they deny also the Fatherhood of God,
for " no man cometh to the Father but by Me " (John xiv. 6). They
are left without a guide to find their way out of the brambles as best
they can. j .
A WRITER in The Christian Observer of July 21st states regret-
fully that while the Protestant Church membership furnishes
the greater proportion of the men and means to carry on the world's
philanthropies, very little prestige accrues therefrom to " the Church."
To emphasize his point he calls attention to the methods of Catholics,
(as he sees them) :
The Roman Catholic Church, in some things wiser in its day and according
to its lights than the Protestant fold, is not so prone to make this mistake.
What benevolence it has to administer is at least given in the name of the
Catholic Church. It gets full credit for all that it does in this way, and often
more than full credit Frequently the Roman Catholic Church draws liberally
upon Protestant friends for financial and moral support, and takes the credit
for the work she is thus enabled to extend all to herself. When she supports
an orphan work it is a Roman Catholic orphan work, which is so administered
as to contribute to the advancement of the Roman Catholic Church. When
she gives to charitable objects, she sees to it that those objects are safely under
the control of her priests or nuns. When her members connect themselves with
a secret society, that Church sees to it that it is a Roman Catholic secret society,
whose officers, policies, and members are all Roman Catholics, and every influence
of which looks to the advancement of the Roman Catholic Church. Roman
Catholics seldom or never give to outside, especially Protestant, philanthropies;
they derive considerable support from non-Catholic sources. Is it altogether
good policy for over-generous Protestants by their unwise giving to foster such
an unfair condition of things? Particularly does this sort of thing seem unwise
when we know that one of the stock pleas of Roman Catholicism, as opposed
to Protestantism, is that the former is more liberal in its charities than the latter.
We would like to call attention to some of the points which he
omits or fails to see. In the first place Catholic charity is based
862 WITH OUR READERS [SepL,
not on humanitarianism, but on the love of God. Hence it is a
religious act and quite naturally associated with the Church; it is
part of her life. Catholic charity, however, does not confine itself
to Catholics. Catholic institutions are open to every creed and race.
Where they receive of the public moneys it is merely as a quid pro
quo for the care of those who would otherwise be public charges. The
few Protestants who contribute to Catholic charities do so because
they approve of the works supported. A large proportion of the poorer
classes in this country are Catholics. Fair-minded Protestants see
the necessity and justice of helping to bear the burden of the poor,
which is so largely a Catholic burden. Nor should it be forgotten ,
that Catholics pay a school tax for the maintenance of schools where
the majority of pupils are not Catholics, and at the same time support ^
Catholic schools for the education of children entitled by the laws
of the country to free education, thereby seriously curtailing- the
amount of Catholic funds for Church and charitable works. The '
amounts given by Protestants to Catholic charities in no way balances |
the sums saved the Protestant taxpayer in school buildings and equip-
ment, were these children allowed to be educated at the public expense.
In the reports of Catholic charities the names of all non-Catholic
contributors, individuals or societies, are given due mention. The
Catholic Church does forbid her children to belong to any secret
society whose members are bound by oaths which might oblige them
to anti-religious or immoral acts, but not because its officers, policies
and members are not Catholics. After all a " plea," no matter by
whom advanced, does not constitute a fact, and the test of greater or
lesser charity is whether it is the gift of poverty or abundance. We
are willing to be judged by the facts.
AGAIN the world stands aghast in the face of a terrible tragedy.
The death list of the Eastland exceeds by several hundreds that
of any former marine catastrophe. In a few seconds fifteen hundred
people were precipitated out of life from a vessel still supposedly
safe at her mooring^. It is difficult to grasp the possibility of such a
fact. Assuredly " someone had blundered." Indeed, as we read the
life-story of the Eastland, of her repeated narrow escapes, we stand
appalled at the culpable temerity that " hopes against hope," and con-
tinues to gamble in human life. The State and Federal authorities
are determined to spare no effort to fix the blame. We would not
wish to anticipate in their findings ; to our mind the blame might be
distributed over many years and among many people. The editor
of The Nation, however, aptly calls attention " to one general fault
which we know prevails in a lamentable d^^ree in our country, and
which unquestionably had a vital share in making the calamity to the
1915] WITH OUR READERS 863
Eastland possible." We would like to call it to the attention of our
readers.
The fault to which we have reference is the unwillingness to enforce strictly
and unbendingly any general rule or principle, when such enforcement inflicts
immediate pain or loss which it is disagreeable to contemplate, while the conse-
quences of non-enforcement are remote and indefinite, and may seem in the
particular instance to be improbable. This disposition is characteristic of our
people, and is manifest in every direction. It was this unwillingness to cause
pain or suffering to particular individuals that led a perfectly well-meaning
professor to fail to do his duty as a citizen when he recognized in Holt the
wife-murderer Muenter. It is this short-sighted good nature which causes the
processes of criminal justice in this country to be so long-drawn-out and so
uncertain, as to result in a record that no less sober a man than ex-President
Taft has declared to be a disgrace to American civilization. It is this weakness
which causes the sufferings of a broken swindler or bank-wrecker to soften the
hearts of judges and juries and executives, who, mitigating the punishment of
the individual directly appealing to their senses, in that very act virtually decree
that thousands of innocent persons not present to their eyes shall be driven to
ruin, and not a few to suicide, through the operations of future Siegels or
Morses.
Not only does this fault pervade and affect our public life, but
it has invaded our private life also. It influences the policy of the
home and of the school. It is the tendency to sacrifice the future to
present comfort ; the many whom we do not see to the few that we do ;
the greater to the less ; discipline to indulgence ; principle to pleasure.
Such a terrible lesson as the Eastland disaster *' should give us pause."
« « « «
ONE ray of light brightens the gloom of this event: the splendid
acts of heroism and self-sacrifice which it called forth. The
daring deeds which saved many from the fate of their companions,
tjie untiring endurance of the long hours of rescue work, all go to
show that war is not the only test of the potentially fine in htunan
nature. We hear much, and deservedly, of the courage, the self-
sacrifice, the devotion exhibited during this dreadful year of war;
men have been proven by fire and sword, and women by suffering and
sacrifice. A writer in the present issue of The Catholic World
shows further the effect of war upon the moral courage of the men
of a nation, leading them to confess openly their faith in God and
their need of His sacramental grace ; of how " God has miraculously
brought good out of evil." All circumstances prove what is latent in
a man, and the essence of heroism is ever the same. The soldier is
not a hero because he takes life, but because he gives it in a cause,
and heroism is doubly fine when it gives life to save life. It is the
motive and the manner of the giving which exalts the Christian
hero above his fellows in deeds of external heroism, and wins him
grace to achieve the highest heroism, unseen of men in the secret
battlefield of the soul.
BOOKS RECEIVED.
Benziger Brotiieks, New York:
In God's Army. By C. C. Martindale. SJ. 35 cents net. The Giant Tells.
By J. dc la Villesbrunne. 90 cents net. IV hy Catholics Honor Mary. By
Rev. J. H. Stewart. 15 cents. Guide in the Ways of Divine Love. By
Canon Granger. 15 cents. A Synopsis of Devas* Political Economy. Edited
hy C. D. Hugo. 20 cents. Love's Gradatory. By Blessed John Ruysbroeck.
Translated by Mother St. Jerome. In Father Gabriel's Garden. By Elsa
Schmidt. Roma — Ancient, Subterranean, and Modern Rome. By Rev. A.
Kuhn, D.D. Part X. 35 cents.
E. P. DuTTON & Co., New York:
The Wayfarer's Library : The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft, by G. Gissing ;
The Widow Woman, by C. Lee; Prophets, Priests and Kings, by A. G.
Gardiner ; The Lore of the Wanderer, by G. Goodchild. 40 cents each aet.
The Story of Canada Blackie. By A. P. L. Field. $1.00 net.
P. J. Kenedy & Sons, New York :
Memorials of Robert Hugh Benson. By B. W. Cornish and others. 75 cents.
The Practice of Mental Prayer. By Father Ren^ de Maumigny, S.J. $1.25.
The War and the Prophets. By H. Thurston, S.J. $1.00.
Henry Holt & Co., New York:
The British and American Drama of To-Day. By Barrett H. Clark. $1.60 net.
The Campaign of 1914 in France and Belgium. By G. H. Perris. $1.50 net.
Thb. America Press, New York :
Catholic Schools for Catholic Youth. Temperance Against Prohibition.
Pamphlets. 5 cents each.
DuFFiELo & Co., New York :
In a French Hospital. By M. Eydoux-D^mians. $1.00 net.
The Bobbs-Merrill Co., New York:
The Nurse's Story. By Adele Bleneau. $1.25 net.
Government Printing Office, Washington, D. C. :
Exercise and Health. By F. C. Smith.
Catholic Truth Society, Pittsburgh :
Catholic Echoes of America. By Agnes Schmidt. Part II. Christian Manhood.
By Rt. Rev. J. F. Regis Canevin, D.D. Pamphlets. $ cents each.
B. Herder, St. Louis:
Robert Hugh Benson — An Appreciation. By Olive K. Parr. 90 cents net.
The Holy Gospel According to St. Luke. By Rt. Rev. Monsignor Ward.
$1.00 net. The Life of St. Dominic Savio. Translated from the original
work of the venerable servant of God, John Bosco. Fourteen Eucharistic
Tridua. By L. Nolle, O.S.B. $1.00 net. Some Thoughts on Catholic Apolp-
getics. By E. I. Watkin, B.A. 30 cents net. On the Breezy Moor. By Mrs.
Macdonald. $1.50 net.
The Lincoln Record Society, Timberland Vicarage, Lincoln, England:
Rotuli Roberti Grosseteste. Edited by F. N. Davis, B.A., Litt.D. 15*.
Office of the Irish Messenger, Dublin :
How Eileen Learned to Keep House. By E. Leahy. Shall I Be a Priest f By
Rev. William Doyle. S.J. A Hero of the War; The Young Men of France
and the War. By Countess de Courson. Is One Religion as Good as
Another? The Church and Secular Education. By Rev. P. Finlay, S.J.
Pamphlets. 5 cents each.
Australian Catholic Truth Society, Melbourne :
Mates. By " Mirian Agatha." The Ethics of War. By Rev. E. Masterson, S.J.
Pamphlets. 5 cents each.
P. Letrielleux, Paris:
Histoire Anecdotique de la Guerre de 1914-191$. Par Franc-Nohain et Paul
Delay. Fascicule six. 0.60.
Maison de la Bonne Presse, Paris :
Annuaire Pontifical Catholique, 1915- Par Monsignor A. Battandier. sfrs. 50.
Librairie Chapelot, Paris:
La Doctrine Pangermaniste. Par Georges Blondel. i /r.
Pierre Tequi, Paris:
De la Connaissance de L'Ame. Par A. Gratry. Two volumes. 7 frs. 50.
<• O A>
(^ P
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lli;l JUN2 8 1991
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